And I Feel Fine
by Purity Black
Summary: When a highly contagious virus spreads through the worlds population, how will it affect the X-Men, Brotherhood and Acolytes? Takes place before series one.
1. Default Chapter

This is the 'end of the world as we know it' fic I've been promising for the last couple of months. Hope you enjoy it! There is no specific ending planned, so any suggestions will be taken into consideration.

The first ever episode of X-Men: Evolution was 'Strategy X', in which we learn that Professor X and Ororo Munroe are teachers at the Xavier Institute and Todd Tolansky is the only member of the Brotherhood, run by Mystique and the shadowy Magneto. The episode features the arrival of Kurt Wagner to the mansion. However, this fic happens shortly before that, maybe a month or so before. This means that Scott, Jean and Todd are in Bayville but none of the other students are. Lance and Kitty are still in Northbrook (with the latter blissfully unaware of her mutation), Fred in Texas, Rogue in Caldecott County with Irene, Evan and Pietro in New York, Jubilee in California, Forge in Middleverse – you get the picture. X-Men, Brotherhood and Acolytes alike are scattered around the country (indeed the world, think of Nightcrawler and Colossus).

In short, forget the entire four series of X-Men: Evolution. This is a 'What if?' fic. In this world, they never happened.

Like? Dislike? Send in a review and let me know why. Good reviews make me all smug, bad ones make me revise what is wrong with the chapter.

WARNING: This fic contains character death and the occasional OC to help things along. Any OC will not be the centre of a chapter and a lot of them will die. If you'd rather not see various members of the Evo cast die, then don't read. There may also be Evo-ised versions of comic characters showing up from time to time.

I'm not American and I'm not familiar with the layout of the country. I'm going off a lot of maps and tourist info for some of the stuff in here. I hope you'll forgive me for any liberties taken with layouts of states, the towns and cities I may make up and any mistakes I may make. Obviously, I'll try to avoid mistakes and when glaring errors are pointed out I'll rectify them immediately.

DISCLAIMER: This disclaimer covers the entire fic because I'm bored of putting them on every chapter. I do not own any of the characters associated with X-Men or the Marvel Universe. If a character seems familiar then they probably don't belong to me. If a character does belong to me, then I'll probably torment them mercilessly. I earn no money for this stuff, I do it for my own amusement and because I like the reviews.


	2. Prologue

Running.

Running, fleeing through the dusty open plains and hoping for a miracle. It had all been going so well, the disguise she'd chosen for the mission a high ranking soldier who worked at the military compound she was escaping, fooling everyone right up until the moment she'd been downloading the top-secret files to disc, the vial of the new experimental compound safe in her belt, and the wrong person had wandered in looking for the commanding officer. She'd taken him out but his warning shout had brought others after her. Her cover was well and truly blown.

A bullet whistled past her ear and she forced herself to go faster, resisting the urge to change form. Mutants were still a secret and she had no desire to change that – it worked well for her. And outrunning a few Thai soldiers wasn't the most difficult thing she'd ever had to do, even if they were firing at her.

There! Ahead of her she saw a farm, run down and ramshackle, a few hens pecking listlessly at the dust. A final burst of speed and she jumped the fence, momentarily out of view as she dropped to the floor.

The soldiers reached the fence a few seconds later, leaping over and gazing around in confusion. Their quarry had vanished.

"Spread out and search," barked the officer in charge in Thai. He was both furious and dismayed. He had no idea how one of their most trusted, respected soldiers could just betray them like that, taking secrets that could go to the highest bidder for millions. Not to mention that they in were in breech of any number of international laws. If they didn't find get their spy, they were in deep shit.

But it looked like the spy had vanished. The soldiers had forced their way into the farmhouse, questioning the frightened-looking aging farmer, who was insisting he knew nothing. Others were spread around, examining every possible hiding place.

Nothing.

The officer in charge kicked a nearby hen, which squawked angrily and dashed back to the hen house. It didn't make him feel any better. How the hell was he supposed to explain this? His gaze followed the hen and he suddenly realised he was overlooking an obvious hiding place. He walked over, got on his hands and knees and peered inside the hen house, putting his head as far in as his broad shoulders would allow. No one was there, the only occupant the hen he'd kicked.

With a curse, he slammed his hand hard against the floor and growled as something smashed beneath his hand. He raised it up and glared at the blood trickling down his wrist, a shard of glass sticking from the wound. He pushed aside the hay on the floor, seeing only a few pieces of clear glass that could have come from anywhere.

"Sir?"

Pulling his head out, the officer in charge glared at the soldier behind him, the mans expression telling him all he needed to know. Their spy had escaped.

00000000000000000000000000

Tran glared at the remains of his hens and sighed. It wasn't the first time he'd lost an entire flock but after the sudden intrusion of soldiers the previous day it was enough to make him lose heart. The soldiers had traipsed around for hours, poking into all his rooms and taking no care with his meagre possessions. They'd stayed until after dark, more and more of them joining in the search for some fugitive and questioning him about his involvement in the mans escape. In the end he'd convinced them and they'd left – but now he'd lost all his hens. Could the week get any worse?

With a sigh, he began grabbing the birds and throwing them in a black bag. There was no way he could sell a bird that had died of unknown causes, not with all the disease that affected fowl. The health authorities would be all over him and he'd had enough of people poking their noses around his farm. He'd just call it a loss.

00000000000000000000000000

The name on her passport was Mallory Brickman and there was no reason for anyone to disbelieve it. The photograph was an exact match to the woman carrying the passport and the document seemed like the real thing. Mallory was a tall woman with a sensible blonde bob and smart suit, unremarkable in an airport filled with similar looking westerners.

She strolled into the Thai airport with only a suspiciously light bag slung over her shoulder. A pair of sulky teenagers moved aside for her, their backpacking holiday at an unwelcome end and preparing to return to their home in Munich. They'd been arguing before the interruption and the girl used the opportunity to storm off in the direction of the bathroom.

Mallory ignored the teens, instead heading straight for ticket sales. The woman behind the counter was harassed. The military had showed up the previous day searching for some one they thought might be trying to flee the country. It was hard to smile at upward of 400 people a day, particularly when they were being rude and angry as passengers so often were, when there were men with guns less than five metres away scrutinising every person buying a ticket. But the blonde woman was perfectly pleasant, buying a ticket for the plane to New York that left in a little over three hours.

In the time before the plane to New York took off, Mallory went to the airport shop to buy a bottle of mineral water and some lozenges for her sore throat – that was all she needed after the few days she'd just had and who she had to go back to. The man taking her money was putting in a lot of overtime that weekend, trying to raise enough money to buy his kid some stupid ultra-violent video game he had his heart set on for his birthday. She went to the food court and had a coffee, queuing between a man waiting for a plane to Maryland and another wondering if his flight to Argentina was going to be delayed _again_. Then she sat in the waiting area, exchanged a few mindless pleasantries with a couple from London, until her flight was called.

On the way back she was irritated to find herself seated beside a fat businessman who wanted to tell her his life story. Her pretence of sleep couldn't stop him talking, nor did her attempts to read. Eventually she looked him in the eye and told him exactly what she'd do to him if he didn't shut up immediately. The rest of the trip was conducted in relative peace.

Everyone who had any contact with Mallory Brickman felt fine. For the next 72 hours or so at least.


	3. The Brotherhood Boarding House

Thanks to:

Todd Fan – It's only gonna get more ominous from here!

Furygrrl – I knew you'd like it! Mallory is one of Mystique's aliases (married to a Senator, one adopted daughter) and yeah, one mutated virus is on it's way! There's mayhem, death and destruction yet to come…

UncannyAsianGirl – I used Thailand because when I was doing research that was the place that they used as an example – probably not a good choice in the light of current events, but it didn't occur to me 'til after I posted the chapter. Thanks for the info on Mystique! I had planned to kill her off right at the beginning so knowing she wouldn't die saved me making a cock-up ;) Thanks for giving this a try even though it's not your usual taste, I hope it lives up to expectations!

DragonMaster02 – Glad you liked it!

Fudie – I'm glad you found it interesting, hope you like this chapter too!

MJ – I don't like wading through tons of unimportant stuff either so I tried to keep it brief. The title actually comes from an REM song called 'It's the end of the world as we know it (and I feel fine)' which is deceptively cheerful and I liked the implication – I'll be focusing on the survivors rather than the dead.

Tara – I'm glad you liked it! It'll be very different to 'First Dates'…

00000000000000000000000000

Todd Tolansky cringed as he heard the front door thrown open and took his feet off the furniture just in time. Raven Darkholme strode in and gave the boy a look, half disgust and half amused contempt. But she seemed distracted and for this Todd was grateful.

"Open a window," she snapped and Todd leapt up to do so. Literally. A quirk of genetics had gifted him with powerful legs and an overlong sticky tongue, not to mention his ability to spit huge gobs of slime over several metres. The same genetics had left him skinny, strange-eyed and had given him a green-tinged pallor. He'd resigned himself to a lifetime of ugliness and when he reflected on it – which wasn't often – he understood why Raven held him in such disdain.

Not that she was so normal looking herself. When she'd entered the house she'd been a tall, dark haired woman in her late thirties or early forties, clad in a stern suit and glasses. Now she _changed_, her skin turning blue, eyes yellow, hair red, the suit replaced by a white outfit that left nothing to the imagination.

"I'll be in my room," she said grimly. "Do _not_ disturb me."

"Sure," muttered Todd, standing to attention until she'd left the room and sticking his tongue out when he was sure she wouldn't see him. He feared her but he couldn't bring himself to take the thinly veiled contempt no matter how furtive and futile the small rebellion.

Mystique had taken him from the children's home some three months previously, where he'd been languishing for the better part of four years. The state had removed him from his mothers care, seeing his pallor and bony frame as signs of neglect. She'd made no attempt to win back custody and few people wanted to foster a boy who looked permanently ill, had dubious personal hygiene and was known to be an opportunistic pickpocket and petty thief. The other kids weren't afraid to blame him for loss of their possessions because a lot of the time he was responsible for the disappearances. He took beatings off several of them and because they were smart enough not to leave many obvious marks and because he wasn't suicidal enough to give names when his injuries were noticed, there were no repercussions.

When the administrator had told him he had a new home, he couldn't believe it. A part of him was convinced he'd screw it up and be back at the home within a week. But he knew it was his last chance, otherwise he'd be turned loose when he got to 18 and then he'd really be on his own. If he could win over his new family then he might be a part of something that had always been out of his reach.

But Mystique didn't want to be his mother or his friend. She spelled out everything she expected from him as they journeyed back to Bayville in the car, all the windows open in spite of the wind. She was part of an organisation that waned to bring together people with special powers, people like her and himself. She called them mutants. Her claim was that when the rest of humanity found out that they existed they would be hunted, persecuted, killed. People would be afraid of their gifts.

After brief consideration, Todd had agreed. He was tired of being different, tired of feeling alone and afraid. Mystique might be a bitch but she knew what he was going through because she'd been there herself. And she was Principal of his new school, which cut him some breaks, especially after being caught at his old tricks again. She'd told him that other mutants would be joining them soon but he was the first.

Todd was beginning to wonder if the other mutants would ever show up. Mystique wasn't exactly great company and she'd left him alone in the house for four days before breezing through the door. He doubted that she'd offer an explanation for her absence and he wasn't about to ask her. It might be nice to have some one to talk to.

Mystique went up the stairs quickly, not wanting to hang around the living room. Something about Toad's odour permeated the fabrics and even when he wasn't there she could still smell him. She was in no mood to deal with Toad right then. The last mission had gone wrong, everything was screwed up and now she had to think of something to tell the people paying her. It was hard enough to do this kind of thing without Magneto finding out, the last thing she needed was this kind of complication. Still, she had the disc and that was worth plenty on its own. She didn't trust Magneto and she needed to feather her own nest. Just in case.

Her mobile phone began to ring, the one she kept hidden away in case Toad ever decided to investigate her room. With a curse she threw the empty travelling bag on the bed and hunted for it in the hidden compartment of the dresser. Finally she got hold of it, checked the caller ID and pressed the reply button.

"Irene?"

"Raven, what did you do?"

Mystique took a seat on the end of the bed. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You were in Thailand."

"Yes I was. So what?"

"I saw it all. Raven, the soldier broke the vial."

"That doesn't matter. I still have all the research on disc. It's worth a lot of…"

"No! That's not what I mean. The vial contained a virus, the mutated West Nile Fever."

"And? It's nothing to worry about Irene. In the stage it was in, it couldn't be transferred to a human host. The virus is limited to birds."

"You were disguised as a bird. A hen to be exact."

"So what are you saying?"

"Normally, the virus is transferred from birds to pigs and then on to humans, am I right?"

"According to the research." Mystique realised what Irene was trying to say. "You think it could have been spread to me?"

"Normally it wouldn't be a problem. Your…unique genetic make up allows you to shrug off all known illnesses and most injuries. But you were still contagious Raven. I saw it all. Things have changed."

Raven widened her eyes. "What did you see?"

"The people you met at the airport were all infected. They spread the virus on to the people they met and they spread it on to the people _they_ met. You started an epidemic Raven and you might have gotten better but they won't. They'll keep on spreading the sickness until they die."

"_Die_?" Raven stood up and began pacing the floor. "What are you telling me Destiny? What can you see?"

"West Nile Fever is usually limited to the northern Mediterranean and can be fatal – but it's usually passed through mosquito bites. The sample you stole is different, it's been modified. It's airborne. And it's fatal."

"How fatal?"

"I see death visiting every country in the world. I see bodies left where they fall, creating secondary disease. I see Magneto's dream of mutant domination fall by the wayside in the wake of a bigger concern."

"You're a real ray of sunshine," snapped Mystique. "I can't see how this…"

"Wait."

Mystique listened intently as on Irene's end of the line there was the sound of a slamming door and a girl's voice. Irene said something, her voice muffled by the distance from the phone, then her voice returned to the line, stronger than ever.

"I have to go. Rogue's home."

"About Rogue…do you see her?"

"Later Raven. She mustn't suspect." Irene hung up the phone, leaving Mystique shocked. Irene's prophecies had never failed to come true and if she was right, then Mystique was responsible for thousands of deaths worldwide. She'd killed before but always out of necessity. To think that she might be responsible for the indiscriminate deaths of so many turned her stomach.

The big payday she'd been anticipating for the disc suddenly looked less appealing.


	4. Institutions Around The USA

Thanks to:

Todd Fan – There will be lots of Todd in this story, because I love him too. Just not in this chapter.

Lyranfan – I will be dropping you a line shortly about the area Sam and Rogue live in – thanks for the help! I'm going to be needing the general layout in a couple of chapters so you can probably expect that mail in the next couple of days ;)

Southern Goth Gal – I haven't actually decided if there will be any romance at all so I can't tell you Romy or Rietro (sorry sis!). But there will be plenty of Rogue and Remy will be showing his face at some point soon!

Crimson Lipstick – Thanks, I'm glad you like it!

LadyEvils – You're right about things getting bad, but for now there's only a whisper that something might be in the air (no pun intended lol). I read somewhere that in the comics Toad was actually born in England and moved to the US when he was small, which explains a lot about my ex-boyfriends!

Fudje – Much longer chapter this time! Hope you continue to enjoy.

Disclaimer: If life is like a lovebank I want an overdraft..

00000000000000000000000000

"Men. You're all the same!" Jean Grey smiled affectionately, although there was no way her boyfriend could see her over the phone. "Just rest up, drink orange juice. I'll get your schoolwork for you."

Scott Summers glared and took a swig of his own orange juice. He could guess exactly how much Duncan cared about missed schoolwork. His suspicion was confirmed when Jean laughed at Duncan's response.

"Just get well soon, OK? I'll drop your work of tonight. Bye!" She put the phone down and wandered over to the table where she and Scott were having breakfast before school.

"You should think about taking the day off too," she said to him. "Why not lie in bed all day and get over this flu before you sneeze so hard you lose your shades?"

"No thanks. I'm not a jerk-off like Matthews." Scott sniffled and glanced at his cereal. He had no appetite at all.

"It's not a case of being a jerk-off. You don't need to be so serious all the time." Jean took a bite of toast and chewed thoughtfully. "Even Storm and the Professor decided not to get up today. You have their permission to be ill!"

"You don't seem to be feeling so bad," said Scott.

"I feel fine," replied Jean. "Guess I must be disgustingly healthy."

It was Scott's opinion that nothing about Jean was disgusting. He quietly worshipped her but there was no way he was ever going to have a chance with her, not with Duncan Matthews in the picture. Sometimes he wondered if she knew how he felt about her – she could read minds after all – but if she did she never mentioned it. Although she did seem to be able to charm him into doing anything she wanted.

She might have a point though. He felt lousy; he knew he was beginning a temperature and his head felt too heavy for his body. The last thing he felt like doing was quadratic equations and the history of the civil rights movement. "Would you mind grabbing my work if I took the day off?"

"Of course I will." Jean leant over the table and put her hand on Scott's forehead. "You're very warm. Will you call me if you or the others get any worse?"

"Sure," said Scott, suddenly very glad he'd decided to ditch. It was worth it jut to feel Jean's hand against his head. "I guess I'll go back to bed."

"OK." Jean watched Scott leave the room feeling concerned. With three of the four members of the Institute down with the flu, she had to wonder when she was going to get sick. And it seemed odd, all of them at once.

00000000000000000000000000

Lance Alvers lay back against a tree, enjoying the mild weather. He wasn't scheduled for a free period but what the hell; he didn't feel like being cooped up today. He'd been up to late the night before and now he could feel himself drifting, not quite asleep but certainly not aware of his surroundings.

A hand fell on his shoulder. "Late night Lance?"

"Back off Griff," said Lance, not bothering to open his eyes. "I'm tired."

"I've got something that's gonna make you a lot less sleepy." Griff sat down next to Lance. "They're putting a new security system in the office. Saw the van outside just now."

"Oh shit." Lance opened his eyes and glanced sideways. "That's not good."

"How are we supposed to get inside now?" Griff glared in the general direction of the office. "Do you think they're on to us?"

"No. They'd have questioned us about it before now." Lance folded his arms moodily. The answers to the many tests that Northbrook High held were all on the computer in that office and Lance had a nice sideline selling the answers to kids who were desperate or lazy or just afraid of failing. Now the office was alarmed there was no way he could get inside unnoticed.

"So how are we supposed to get those answers now?" Griff pulled up a blade of grass from the lawn and busied himself peeling strands from it. Lance sighed. He wasn't exactly the smartest guy in school but he was way more intelligent than Griff or their other partner in crime Pete. It bugged him sometimes that he was supposed to come up with all the answers.

"I don't know," he said, letting his gaze wander over to the school building where a bunch of the younger kids were just emerging. "But there's nearly three weeks until midterms, I'll have a plan by then."

Griff looked like he wanted to say something else, but Lance had already forgotten about him. His eye had been caught by a group of four girls of maybe fifteen or so. Three of them were attractive enough but there was something about the fourth that made him pay attention. She was laughing at something, her dark hair caught in a ponytail and her books hugged tightly to her chest. She wasn't the type he usually liked – he could tell just by the clothes she wore that she was too goody-goody for him, the pink cardigan a dead giveaway – but right then and there she seemed so far removed from the other problems in his life, so happy to just enjoy the day, that he wanted to talk to her, to see if some of that would rub off on him.

"Cute," said Griff, following his gaze. "I call the blonde."

"What happened to Cindy?" asked Lance, not really interested, continuing to watch the brunette.

"She's a bitch," grumbled Griff.

"Well you can just forget about those girls. You'll never be good enough for that type." Lance saw his object of affection sneeze into her hand and he realised that what he had thought was inexpertly applied make up was actually high colour.

"So why are you watching?"

"No harm in looking."

Griff snorted. "Until they see you. About the midterms…"

"I said I'll deal with it." Lance reluctantly looked away from the girl and focused on Griff. "Maybe there's some way to override the alarm or they might not set it during the day. There isn't always some one in there."

"But you can't tell when it's going to be empty and if some one sees you hanging around outside they'll suspect something!"

"I _said_ I'll…"

"_KITTY!"_

Lance turned his head over to the school building. The girls he'd noticed before were now clustered around in a tight circle, looking panicked. The brunette he'd casually appraised was nowhere in sight and it took him a moment to realise that she had fallen, apparently fainted. Other students were heading over to her and one boy raced inside to find a teacher.

"Whoa, drama," said Griff, craning his neck interestedly. Lance didn't reply. The beautiful girl he'd been casually appreciating moments before was suddenly in some kind of trouble. He wasn't superstitious but somehow it felt like a sign.

00000000000000000000000000

"School sucks." Sam Guthrie shoved a piece of pasta around his plate, glaring at it like it was personally responsible for all his woes. "Can you believe I have detention? For no reason!"

"Didn't you forget to do your homework?" His friend Amy smiled at him and his stomach flipped, not thanks to the terrible cafeteria food for a change. Amy was pretty, she was smart and she understood him better than anyone else. Including his parents and his numerous brothers and sisters.

"Well yeah, but the whole family's down with the flu and I had to look after them. By the time I was done feeding them and doing chores, I was too beat to think about Kenya's main exports. I mean, who cares?"

Amy sipped her milk through a straw. "So what are you gonna do? You can't do detention if you've gotta look after the family."

"I guess I'll have to skip it." Sam frowned. Their geography teacher always gave a week of detention for missing just one session but there was no choice.

"I'll talk to him," said Amy. "You know what a pushover he is."

"For you maybe."

"I'll tell him you have family troubles and you had to go deal and he'll probably let it slide this time."

"Amy, you are the best!" Sam grinned at her.

Amy tried to look stern. "But you owe me Guthrie!"

"Whatever you want, name it." Sam was vaguely hoping she'd ask for him to take her somewhere at the weekend, maybe a movie or for a burger. He could never make a move on Amy, who was the prettiest girl in class, but he could always hope that she'd make a move on him.

"I'll think about it. Maybe when your family are all better I'll collect."

Sam tried not to grin goofily. Amy understood how hard it could be for him to be the oldest sibling especially when they were all ill, so maybe she was waiting for him to be free of his responsibilities before she asked him to take her out. Hey, a guy could dream couldn't he?

"So, why are you here if everyone's ill?" Amy looked genuinely curious and Sam could understand. They came from a small farming community and for many people school just wasn't important.

"Well…I'll be forced to kill you if you ever repeat this."

"Cross my heart and hope to die." Amy made a criss-cross motion over her left breast and Sam really wished she hadn't drawn attention.

"Someday I'd like to live somewhere else. Maybe New York. But I don't want to go there and work some dead end factory job. So I need some kind of an education."

"There's nothing wrong with that," replied Amy. "Who wouldn't want to get away from this dead end town and move to the city?"

"Most of the people we go to school with."

"That's because they're afraid of change," said Amy dismissively.

"Or maybe they're happy here," said Sam. Much as he didn't want to argue with Amy, he couldn't disparage his home.

"Maybe they are. But that doesn't mean that you have to be. You can go anywhere you want."

Sam considered this idea. He'd never told his parents that he was hoping to move when he graduated, at least try to go to a university away from Kentucky and see what life was like away from the area. He was well aware that most teenagers thought the place they lived the worst place in the world to be. But Amy was right. He wouldn't be in high school forever and then he could make up his mind where to go.

The idea was intoxicating.

"Hang on…" Amy paused, then sneezed into her cupped hand. "Excuse me."

"Bless you," said Sam.

"Typical," grumbled Amy. "Probably my damn hay fever coming back. Some years I sneeze maybe twice, other years I can't leave the house all summer."

Sam glanced at his watch and sighed. "I guess we ought to think about moving."

"For a guy who wants to go to university, you sure don't sound too pleased to be getting back to learning!" Amy gave a lop-sided smile that made Sam's heart leap.

"I want to leave Kentucky. Doesn't mean I wanna be in class!" Sam shoved aside his half-eaten pasta and followed Amy from the canteen, trying hard not to sneak glances at her butt as she walked.

00000000000000000000000000

Pietro Maximoff shoved his books into his locker and slammed the door. Finally, the end of the day. School went so slowly it made him want to scream. There was only one thing at school he really enjoyed, really excelled at without his own unique brand of cheating and that was basketball. This year he'd made the team and tonight was practice. He tried to time it so that he didn't arrive first but it was hard. The others were so _slow_.

He made his way to the locker room, reminding himself to walk. It was harder and harder lately to just go at a pace that other people were used to. He always knew he was destined to have power, but he'd never known how it would manifest. He'd always hoped for something frightening, like Wanda…

Oh, but it hurt to think about his sister.

Instead, he thought about the basketball team. If he could use his powers it would be better but his father – his _real_ father – had warned him years ago the consequences of playing his hand. Instead he had to stand by while others took the glory that rightly should have been his.

People like Evan Daniels. That brought a wry smile to his face. Evan and him had been nothing more than friendly rivals until Wanda had been taken away…

It hurt to think about Wanda.

…And then Evan had asked where she was. Pietro had slammed the other boy against the wall and told him never to mention his sister again. Evan never had and as the two had entered high school the incident had been forgotten. By Evan at least. Pietro never forgot that Evan had been in his business.

Pietro let his hand close over the money in his pocket. He'd stolen it from Evan's locker the previous day. Knowing what he was capable of was welcome but more than that, it was a way of getting back at Evan, the person who kicked him when he was down. The only person who asked where his sister had gone.

Walking into the locker room, Pietro paused. There were only three other people there, one of whom was the coach, a quivering mass of muscles and temper.

"Practice cancelled tonight Maximoff," he said. "The rest of the team have the flu."

"All of them?" Pietro found it hard to believe. Even during an outbreak of illness that hit the schools hard due to the close proximity of the students, it was unheard of to have most of the team incapacitated.

"Believe it." The coach sneezed and looked disgusted with himself. "We'll be fine for the play-offs."

"That's just great." Pietro turned and walked back through the doors before the other team members could engage him in conversation. The one thing he looked forward to cancelled because a couple pf guys had the sniffles. It was a joke.

00000000000000000000000000

"Irene! Ah'm home!"

Rogue threw her bag onto the stairs, planning to take it up later on. There was no way she could leave it lying around, not when Irene relied so much on memory to navigate the house.

There was no answering shout from the kitchen and Rogue frowned. Usually Irene was cooking up something fabulous when she got home from school, saying it made her feel good to be able to do things that sighted people said she shouldn't. She walked into the kitchen and there was no sign that Irene had been considering cooking. No chopped vegetables, no steaming pots on the cooker.

"Irene?"

"Up here honey." The voice was tired and Rogue grabbed her bag as she ran up the stairs. A part of her was panicking. Irene was the only mother she had known since the death of her birth mother when Rogue was just four. In the back of her mind was always the possibility that the same thing could happen to the woman who had taken her in as her own daughter.

She walked into the bedroom that Irene used and noticed the woman in the bed looking too pale and ill. "Irene! What's wrong?"

"I've got the flu that's going around." Irene was hard to read because her eyes were permanently hidden behind shades but Rogue thought she looked tired.

"Do you want me to make you some soup? Maybe ah can get you a hot water bottle?"

"Sweetheart no." Irene lay back against the pillows as if exhausted. "I need to tell you something."

Rogue frowned. "What?"

"In a week, you'll want to find out what was happening. There's a box in the bottom of my closet. Open it. Not now though!"

"Well, sure, ah guess…"

"The woman who adopted you…she loves you. Always remember that."

"That was you and ah always will." Rogue took hold of Irene's hand; not liking the direction the conversation was taking. "You're starting to scare me."

"Sweetheart, no matter what happens, know I always loved you and I regret nothing."

Irene began to breathe more deeply, indicating she was asleep. Rogue frowned. That was just odd and she had no idea what it was leading to…

Unless Irene was going to die.

Panic shot through Rogue and she shook her head emphatically, warning off such thoughts. No one was going to die around here. Irene had the flu. She would get better soon.

00000000000000000000000000

There was nothing better than the open road.

Logan twisted the throttle a little more and was rewarded by the sound of the engine purring louder. Goddamn, he loved having nothing more to consider than the next place on the map, the next place to stop for a meal before he was history again. No one recognised him in places like that. No one wanted to stop him because he was different. No one wanted to capture him because he was special.

His memories of the Weapon X experiment were limited and for that he was eternally grateful. His real name, his age, they were all welcome trades as long as he didn't have to consider what it was like to have molten metal grafted to his bones. He healed fast. The healing factor did not exclude the pain of what he went through waiting for it to kick in.

But the open road swallowed all memory, demanded nothing from him. There was nothing but him and the future, whatever lay over the next horizon.

He kept track of what happened back in Bayville out of a sense of duty. Xavier really thought he could bring mutants together to exist in peace with the humans. Logan didn't want to dissuade him from the notion. It was about time some one had a dream for people like them. If there had been some one like Xavier around, then maybe what had happened to him and Sabretooth and Maverick and Rage…

And that was where it started to grow fuzzy.

Chuck meant well. Logan couldn't fault his motives but he wasn't sure how recruiting teenagers would help. Then again, Xavier was smart and he was just some guy with no memory and a little experience of how people though of mutants…

Some one was following him.

Logan wasn't sure which of his senses tipped him off, although he later suspected it was his hearing. One moment he was driving down the road without a care in the world, the next he knew he was being followed by a helicopter. Without slowing the motorcycle he popped the claws of his right hand and nodded as he realised he was right. In the reflection of the metal he saw a copter behind him.

He gunned the motorcycle and sped toward the edge of the cliff he travelled upon. He knew no one could take him if he didn't want to be taken, but the copter unnerved him. What was going on?

He came to a stop at the edge of the cliff and waited. Sure enough the copter made itself known, hovering right above his head and blowing his hair as he removed his helmet. A second copter pulled up from the dip in the cliff and Logan narrowed his eyes as he saw the sign on the side of the chopper and realised who was pursuing him.

The second copter landed and his sometime friend Nick Fury stepped out.

"What's this about Fury?" Logan gave the man a contemptuous glare. "In case you haven't noticed, I don't work for SHIELD any more."

"I know." Fury sounded placating and Logan was instantly on his guard. "We need you."

"Need me?" Logan glared at Fury. "What for?"

"We have a situation."

"So what else is new?"

"Logan!" Fury sounded odd and after a moment Logan placed the emotion. Desperation. He'd never heard that from Fury before.

"What do you want from me bub?"

Fury exhaled, trying to look in control of the situation. All he managed to look was scared, which was another first. "There's been an outbreak of a virus."

"So?" Logan turned his attention back to his motorcycle and rubbed an imaginary spot. He knew there was no real way of drawing out Fury unless the SHIELD member knew he wasn't about to help.

"This virus is against the regulations of the Geneva convention."

"Man made." Logan still didn't turn to Fury.

"It's gotten loose. We can't quarantine. It's too late for that."

Logan had to pause for a moment before he caught the magnitude of what Fury was saying. "You mean there's some fucking superbug on the loose?"

"This wasn't our fault. There was some one in Thailand who was experimenting…"

"And I'm supposed to believe the American government didn't have something similar." Logan snorted. "What are we talking about here?"

"If we knew who brought it here, we could maybe find ground zero. But we don't and we can't. All we know is that this virus is highly contagious and we need a cure. Now."

"Oh shit." Logan realised why he'd been cornered. "You want me to be your guinea pig?"

"There are literally millions of lives at stake Logan. This bug has shown up all over America and also all over Europe and Australia as well as tentative reports from other places. You might be the only chance we have."

Logan gave a regretful look at his motorcycle, remembering how only five minutes before he had been driving down the road not bothering anyone, before turning back to Fury. "Fine," he growled. "You think I can beat this? Do your tests. But remember, this was down to politics and not mutants."

"I will," replied Fury.

Fury might remember that the whole thing had been political but Logan would bet his motorcycle that there were those who wouldn't. Mutants were a secret kept from the general public but there were plenty of people who knew they existed and Logan knew they weren't all friendly. It was unlikely that his help would change their minds. But there was more than mutant rights and hurt feelings at stake.

"Do you have a facility in the area?"

Fury nodded, pulling a cigar out of his breast pocket to try to hide the intense feeling of relief he was sure was written all over his face. He'd never really doubted that Logan would agree to help them but as well as he knew the mutant; it was impossible to predict his reactions. He could have made it hard for them and it was unlikely that Logan would look forward to being used as a lab rat after what he had been through.

"I'll get there on my own." Logan got back on his bike as Fury gave directions and gunned the engine, roaring away without responding. Both of them knew that Fury would have him followed by one of the copters but it would be an unnecessary precaution. Logan was a loner by nature but he wasn't going to ignore a problem like this if there was something he could do to help.

Always assuming there was something he could do and if it could be done in time.

00000000000000000000000000

The girl had no name but if she had the chance to choose one it wouldn't be anything Madame Hydra was calling Dr Risman.

"You _have_ to find the cure!" Madame Hydra paced the room and Dr Risman watched her nervously. "Do you know how much it would be worth? We could make millions!"

"I haven't been able to isolate the disease yet…"

"So do it!" Madame Hydra gave a contemptuous look at the equipment that Dr Risman was using to study blood samples. "I did not get you all this expensive junk so that you could fail me on this!"

"I'm doing my best."

"Do better." Madame Hydra noticed the girl in the corner. "Why is she in here?"

"I was thinking that if I were to introduce the virus to a sample of her blood then I could examine the antibodies she produces and possibly synthesise a cure."

"So take the blood sample and put her back in the isolation room."

The girl felt her heart speed up. She hated the isolation room, the place where she spent all her time when she wasn't training. The walls, floor and ceiling were white and there was nothing for her to do at all but sit in a corner and be alone with her thoughts. No distractions.

But she was a soldier, a weapon and she didn't complain about it. Silently, she allowed Dr Risman to take a blood sample and followed Madame Hydra down the corridor, knowing that this couldn't go on forever. Someday she was going out into the field without a chaperone.

And then she was going AWOL.


	5. In Sickness and in Health

Thanks to:

Todd Fan – I noticed the Evan/Pietro anomaly too and wondered about it. And the DVD claims that Pietro is an exchange student so how the hell did they know each other since they were babies?

LadyEvils – Yeah, I'm gonna be mean about the Lancitty…real mean. Sorry! The major players are gonna be Lance, Pietro and Jean so far (but none of them are in a romantic way). And none of the characters from outside the US are gonna show up because they'll be restricted to their own countries…no Kurt. And no Pyro! Damn, I love writing him. But there will be other Acolytes showing up in the next chapter ::coughGambitcough::

TheDreamerLady – I figured if SHIELD know about Logan and Hydra have X23 they'd use the healing factor to try for a cure (although I think Hydra would ransom it). Pietro and Evan is something that I've thought about a lot and I thought I'd try to fill in a couple of glaring blank spots.

Fudje – Glad you liked it! I'll keep 'em coming all right – I have a feeling this is gonna be a long fic…

Telepathic Angel – Where do you live that they've only shown 2 series? I thought I was deprived because they only showed series 4 a few months ago and they cut off the last three episodes of any series and show them as the beginning of the next one (what the hell is the point of that?). The chapters are gonna be speeding up from here and as to the Jott…hehe, sorry!

And special thanks to UncannyAsianGirl for recommending her music video to me! I thought it was great and I've never heard the song before but I liked it a lot, I'll be looking out for stuff by Harvey Danger from now on! If like me you have an archive of Evo music videos on your computer, click on the reviews for this fic and check out UncannyAsianGirl's home page where you can download the video. It's one of the better Rogue vids out there.

00000000000000000000000000

Jean was beginning to worry.

The Professor was running a temperature of close to a hundred degrees, Storm was thrashing around in a fever-induced nightmare and Scott hadn't roused himself from a semi-lucid stupor since she got home. She'd been trying to dose them up on flu remedies bought from the chemist but so far they hadn't done anything. Maybe because she'd been reduced to buying the dregs of the stock. Every chemist in Bayville was running perilously low on anything even remotely curative, right down to throat lozenges and lemon drinks. When she had asked a pharmacist about it, he had grinned and told her that half the town was down with the mysterious virus and the other half were terrified of catching it. But if the trend continued it would put his kids through college.

Jean turned on the television and put on the news channel, trying to find out what the official line on the flu was. There was a story about it, running fourth in line after a high profile murder inquiry, a celebrity divorce and a report about armed forces abroad.

The anchorwoman, a perky blonde in her thirties, smiled at the camera. "Several towns across the state have been reporting record increases in the number of flu cases being seen. Doctors have established that many of the cases are Asian flu, a relatively serious strain. It is advised that anyone with symptoms should drink plenty of fluids and take bed rest. Although this strain may be dangerous in the very young or elderly, doctors are anxious to stress that the majority of people will be up and about within a week of …"

Jean lost track of the monologue, frowning as she felt a strange crawling sensation within her skull. It was almost as if some one was trying to get through her recently established mental blocks…

With a small cry she jumped to her feet as the sensation intensified. She forced all of her concentration on keeping her psychic shields in place, becoming frightened as she realised just how much effort it was taking. The only psychic in Bayville that she knew of was the Professor and there was no way he'd try to read her mind at all, let alone so clumsily as to give his presence away. The Professor used his power like a surgeon wielding a scalpel; this was more like some one battering her mental defences with a sledgehammer.

A crack of thunder sounded outside and abruptly the feeling stopped. Cautiously Jean tried to study her own mind for any traces of the intruder but found nothing. Had she imagined the whole thing?

A flash of lightning from outside made her realise just how dark the room had grown in the last few minutes. When she had turned on the TV it had been a relatively light evening, now the sky was dark with thunderheads, the wind blowing the trees into a frenzy, the promise of rain in the air.

_Storm!_

Jean bolted from the room as she heard the first drops of rain hit the window. By the time she got up the stairs the rain had become a downpour, the wind howling around the mansion. She burst into Storm's room, badly afraid now. The white-haired woman had her eyes squeezed shut, her fists balled up by her sides.

"Storm!" Jean raced over to the bed and took the woman's hand. "What are you doing?"

"_Help me I'm trapped_!" Storm snatched her hand from Jean and began beating at the air. _"Some one help me I can't get out and it's dark_!" Then a stream of words in a language that Jean didn't recognise.

"Storm please!" Jean noted in alarm that Storm's skin was coated in sweat and placed a hand on the woman's forehead. She was burning up. "Storm, snap out of it!"

Storm's eyes flew open, revealing pure white orbs. At the same time a bolt of lightning touched down right outside the window and Jean shrieked, running from the room to get some help. The Professor would know what to do.

The Professor's room was dark and rain continued to lash at the windows. Jean hurried over to the bed and reached over to shake the man, noticing that he too was sweating profusely. "Professor, you have to help! Storm's lost control of her powers, she's hallucinating…Professor?"

"I can't help it Cain…"

"Professor, you're not making any sense!"

"You're wrong Erik. Mutants can introduce themselves to mankind as friends. You sound as though we're preparing for a war…"

"Professor, _please_!"

More incoherent mutterings from the Professor told her that she was fighting a lost cause. There was no help for her here. A glance at the window told her that the rain had given way to hailstones and the storm had increased in violence. She hurried into the hallway and made her way back to Storm's room. There was only one way she might be able to stop Storm and the terrible destructive forces she was unwittingly unleashing and that was to enter her mind.

She nearly lost her nerve when another bolt of lightning grounded close to the building and the lights in the hall dimmed noticeably. There was a second when Jean thought she'd be plunged into darkness – then the lights brightened again and she breathed a sigh of relief before entering Storm's room again.

Storm was thrashing around on the bed, her hands beating the air still. Jean hesitated. She'd been at the Institute only a short time and although she knew her powers were improving every day, she had very little experience of entering the minds of others. She was afraid of making a mistake.

A boom of thunder so loud that the house seemed to shake made her cry out again and made up her mind. Sitting on the chair beside the bed she closed her eyes and probed the edges of Storm's mind. It was a whirlwind of confusion, her thoughts jumbled and her hold on the present non-existent. She forced herself to go deeper, remembering one of the first lessons the Professor had taught her, how to go into minds and force them into an instant, dreamless sleep. She'd once tried it on a girl who was coming on to Duncan and had been amused by the results.

She found what she was looking for, visualising a button that she had to press – she always found it easier to probe minds if she translated brain patterns into a recognisable image. As soon as she did so, Storm stopped struggling and calmed. Immediately, the hail ceased and only a low growl of thunder suggested the sky had been anything but still.

Jean let out a shaky sigh and brushed the hair from Storm's too-warm forehead. The instructors needed a doctor, that much was obvious. But where could she take people whose fever induced dreams caused them to manipulate minds, the weather itself…

And what about Scott?

An explosion from another part of the mansion had her on her feet and running to its source.

00000000000000000000000000

Todd glanced nervously outside as rain suddenly pelted down from the previously clear sky. He'd been cooped up for too long, Mystique insisting that he didn't leave the house for any reason. She'd called the school and used the Principals voice to inform them that she wouldn't be in because she had the flu. She didn't bother to give Toad an alibi and he assumed that she'd deal with it when she returned to her job.

Mystique seemed as unnerved by the sudden bad weather as he was, gazing out of the window in dismay as the skies opened and thunder crashed overhead. They remained silent in the living room of the Brotherhood house, the tension in the room almost unbearable.

To Todd's surprise, it was Mystique who cracked first. The moment the rain turned into hail and lightning flashed so brightly it tattooed its afterimage on his eyelids, she grabbed the phone and began to dial.

Todd tried to pretend he wasn't listening, although it was as if Mystique had forgotten he was in the room. She paced impatiently up and down the room as she waited for a reply.

"I need to speak to Irene." Her voice was steady but Todd thought he could sense an underlying fear in her tone.

She paused, obviously listening to the person on the other end. "Yes, I know she's sick but she'll want to speak to me. It's very important."

Another pause. "Goddamn it, I know all this! Just put me on to her!"

Her knuckles tightened around the phone and she took it slowly from her ear. Todd guesses that she'd been hung up on and wondered who'd have the nerve. Obviously not anyone who'd ever met her.

"Thanks a lot Rogue," muttered Mystique as she returned the phone to its cradle almost gently. Todd glanced back to the window and saw the hail taper off, heard the thunder recede. He wrapped his arms around himself as if cold. Something was very wrong in Bayville and he didn't know what.

00000000000000000000000000

Rogue slammed the phone down on the crazy woman who'd been demanding to see Irene. Some people had no respect at all.

She went into the kitchen and checked the soup on the stove. It was ready and she poured it into a bowl and placed it onto a tray along with a hot lemon drink and a bottle of elderly cold medicine. That was the best she could do; the nearest pharmacist had been inexplicably closed and she didn't want to go further afield than she had. She was worried about Irene.

For a while it had seemed like she was merely under the weather, tired and feverish but basically OK. Rogue had gone to bed and been woken up in the early hours by a crash. Racing into Irene's room she had found the bedside table knocked over and the telephone balanced on it knocked to the floor.

"It can't be stopped…there's nothing he can do…"

"Irene!" Rogue had ran over to the bed and tried to get the woman's attention but Irene hadn't even realised she was in the room.

"The girl can drain people with just a touch…limitless power…"

"That's real nice Irene," said Rogue soothingly, hoping the tone of her voice would calm the woman.

"You took the job Raven…I told you not to take the job…"

"Hush Irene. It's gonna be fine." Rogue pulled the blankets further up to cover the woman, alarmed at how warm Irene was and how pale her skin had become. Noticing the phone on the floor, she had picked it up and called the doctor, kept on speed dial on the phone so that Irene wouldn't have to remember it every time a younger Rogue had come down with a childhood ailment. She got an answering machine with an emergency number on it and hung up; redialling the number she'd been given. There was a busy tone and she almost threw the phone across the room in frustration.

Irene had grown quiet and when Rogue turned her attention back to her, she was asleep. Rogue went into her own room, retrieved the lamp and moved it into Irene's room, planning to remain there and read, keep a vigil over the blind woman.

She hadn't gotten a lot of reading done.

Now, she was hoping that the soup and hot lemon would help Irene to recover. She had spent all day trying to call out the doctor but so far she hadn't been able to get through. That was aggravating and a little ominous. Since when was an emergency doctor busy all through the night and following day too? And the surgery had given her a busy line every time she had tried it and it should have been open.

Balancing the tray, she carefully made her way up the stairs and used her foot to nudge the bedroom door open. To her surprise Irene was awake and sat up in bed.

"You have no idea how glad ah am to see you feeling better." Rogue walked over and rested the tray on the bedside table. "You scared me for a while."

"I know. I'm sorry." Irene still looked too pale and Rogue frowned.

"Don't apologise. It's about time ah took care of you for once. Ah made you some soup and a drink."

"Thank you dear." Irene felt for the tray as Rogue held it out to her and balanced it on her knee. "It smells great."

There was silence for a few minutes as Irene took a few mouthfuls of soup, seemingly deep in thought. "Sweetheart?"

Rogue glanced up expectantly. "What?"

Irene hesitated before letting her head droop. "Nothing. This soup is very good."

"Uh, thanks." Rogue wondered what Irene had been about to say. It had seemed important but then again maybe it was her overtired imagination working overtime.

00000000000000000000000000

Northbrook was a ghost town.

Lance wandered the streets alone, school over for the day and no reason to be anywhere. Usually he'd hang out with Griff or Pete but neither of them had been in school and a call to their houses confirmed that they were ill. Griff sounded rough but Pete had been suspiciously cheerful and Lance decided that the boy was making himself sound worse than he really was to get out of class for a few days.

His foster parents were pretty ill too and Lance had no desire to look after them. They were OK but he was under no illusions that he was an indispensable part of the family. He'd never been an indispensable part of any family.

He kicked at a stone and wondered what to do now. The jeep had barely enough gas to get him to school tomorrow, assuming there was even a point. There were hardly any kids there, either they were off with flu or being kept away by frightened parents. And it wasn't like he was a good student.

The weekly local newspaper, a rag that dealt mostly with council issues and reassuring the neighbourhood that all was well in their little community, had run a story on the mysterious flu outbreak, stating that it was a growing problem across the state but was being brought under control. Lance had scanned the article out of mild curiosity but he found the cheery optimism of the article at odds with what his eyes were telling him.

He was vaguely aware of walking through an upmarket residential area boasting landscaped gardens and expensive cars in every driveway. He hadn't been taking a lot of notice of where he was going until he saw flashing blue lights up ahead. Interest piqued, Lance headed in that direction, noticing a cop car and an ambulance. Some one inside the house was screaming.

Lance walked over and stood beside the ambulance. A few other interested onlookers were standing around, a few people on their front steps watching the scene although they were less obvious about their curiosity than Lance was.

A paramedic emerged from the house, pulling a struggling woman with him. Lance could see a man behind her, looking shell-shocked, and a cop through the window. He thought the woman seemed vaguely familiar but couldn't immediately place her.

"She melted." The woman made another attempt to get into the house. "She just…melted!"

"It's gonna be fine," said the paramedic soothingly. A second paramedic came out of the house and headed for the back of the ambulance, taking out a medical box and removing a syringe.

"I was just going in to check on her and she opened her eyes…she shouted and then she just melted! I tried to grab her and there was nothing there!"

The second paramedic approached the woman and injected the syringe into her arm. The woman didn't complain about it at all but after a few more moments she went limp and allowed the first paramedic to lead her to the ambulance.

The man behind her walked onto the driveway and stared after the woman. A cop came out after him and put his arm on the mans shoulder. "They'll look after her."

"My daughter…" The man was so quiet that Lance could barely hear him.

"We'll find her sir."

"She fell through the ceiling. My wife screamed from upstairs and Kitty fell through the ceiling, right through the room and through the floor. I ran down into the cellar but…but…" The man let his head fall and began to sob. "She was gone! Kitty just disappeared through the floor! Do you want to tell me how that is _even fucking possible_!?"

"Calm down sir, go with your wife. We'll find your daughter."

"Hey kid, move along!" A second cop car had pulled up behind the ambulance while Lance was distracted with the drama before him and he turned to see an older, heavyset cop glaring at him. "This isn't a fucking peep show y'know!"

Lance shrugged and started walking slowly. _Kitty._ The girl he had seen at school, the one who had fainted. It didn't seem likely that there were two girls with that name in town and the woman had passed on enough of her looks to her daughter for Lance to see the resemblance. But what the family had said was crazy. People didn't just fall through floors.

He took one last glance at the house and felt his blood run cold.

He had a good look at the living room through the large bay window. The cop he had seen inside was still looking up and from his new vantage point Lance could see what had caught the mans attention.

A blanket was hanging from the ceiling, halfway through the plaster as though it had been passing through with something and got caught. But that was impossible.

Wasn't it?

00000000000000000000000000

There were army guys everywhere.

Pietro could see them as he sped through the streets of New York, looking frozen in slow motion in comparison with his speed. Just a few short days ago the flu that everyone else seemed to have was a nuisance, now he was beginning to feel seriously worried. Almost afraid.

The army had arrived in the city a few days before and although for the most part they were limited to the tourist areas, Pietro had noticed some of them around his neighbourhood. There were hardly any kids in school and it was hardly worth turning up – the few teachers that had bothered all seemed to be sick – so he hadn't bothered. He thought he'd go to Times Square and hang out for a while, but the presence of the army worried him.

He decided to go back to school after all. Anything to avoid the army guys with the frozen faces and guns clipped to their belts. He passed a soldier with a woman clinging to his arm and Pietro knew if he slowed down long enough she would be asking for his help with something. But slowing down seemed a waste of time. He'd decided to go to school and now his mind was made up he wanted to be there as soon as possible. He'd take the day off when Times Square was a little less weird.

For Pietro, it was faster to run than it was to take the train – he matched its speed easily and could take the shortest routes. He was at PS 104 in no time.

He slowed and walked through the doors, devising his excuse for the teachers. He was debating whether to use the old 'slept in' excuse or getting inventive and saying he'd been held up because he'd been accosted by a group of supermodels demanding his sexual favours. It took him a few moments to realise he was all alone.

He glanced around, confused. Admittedly he should be in class already and the hallway should be quiet but he couldn't hear the drone of classes going on behind closed doors, the echoing footsteps of a kid heading to the bathroom, the raised voice of a teacher losing it with some smart mouth. He frowned and glanced through the window in a nearby door. No one was there.

Seriously creeped out, Pietro ran around the school but it took him only a few seconds to determine that no one else was around. Yet the doors were unlocked. He sped up to the principal's office and glanced through the open door, seeing the man seemingly asleep with his head resting on the desk.

Pietro headed out of the school and began walking down the street, in no hurry for the first time since his powers manifested. There seemed to be no point. Where would he run to?

The streets were strangely quiet and he shoved his hands in his pockets as he walked. What the hell was going on around here? Surely the whole neighbourhood couldn't be ill.

He passed by James Richardson's house; one of the guys on the basketball team and on a whim went over and banged on the door. He waited for a few minutes but no one replied. That was curious, he knew that James's mother worked from home and was always in during office hours. Maybe she had gone to the supermarket and James was asleep. He hadn't looked too good the last time Pietro had seen him.

Eventually he left and walked toward home. There were other people he knew who lived on the way but the houses had an air of silence about them, most of them had the curtains closed and Pietro had no desire to see if anyone else was home. The whole day was weirding him out. It was as if he were the only person in the city.

He was almost past Evan Daniels house when he noticed the door standing open.

Pietro paused and glanced at the house. They were in the suburbs but this was still New York. People just didn't leave their houses unlocked, let alone with the doors open.

He went over to the house and opened the door wider. "Hello? Evan? Mrs Daniels? Is anyone here?"

There was no reply.

Pietro walked further into the house, noticing how dark it seemed. The curtains were drawn and there were no lights on anywhere. He crept further into the house and wandered into the living room.

Mrs Daniels was lying on the couch, a hand trailing on the floor. Pietro breathed a sigh of relief – the silence had freaked him out – and went over to her.

"Mrs Daniels? You left the door open. It's Pietro Maximoff, remember? I came to one of Evan's birthday parties when he was eight…" Pietro cut himself off, realising he was babbling. There was something strange about the way she was lying. She couldn't be comfortable in that position and she still wasn't answering him.

Her chest wasn't moving. She wasn't breathing.

Pietro flipped the light on and recoiled. The woman's eyes were wide open and snot and blood had caked around the lower part of her face, traces of it on her hands. Her skin was grey.

She was dead.

Pietro stared for a moment, unable to tear his eyes away from the gaze of the dead woman. Then he reached into hi pocket for his cell phone. It wasn't there. He'd forgotten to pick it up that morning.

"Oh crap." His voice was a whisper and sounded wrong in the silence of the room. He backed out of the room slowly, still unable to stop staring at the body on the couch. Once in the hallway, out of sight of the woman, he exhaled a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding and glanced over at the phone table. The base unit was there but the phone was obviously the cordless kind and the receiver was missing.

Knowing he had to call some one – an ambulance or the police – he sped upstairs to find where the phone was, hoping it wasn't in the living room with the body. He couldn't go back in there, he just couldn't.

The upstairs of the house smelled strange and for the first time Pietro wondered where Evan was. If he wasn't at school he should be here. Maybe he was sick and didn't know that his mother was lying dead downstairs.

He pushed open the first door he came to and found himself in a room that had to belong to a teenager. There were clothes lying on the floor, baggy combats and hoodies. A giant poster of Tony Hawk grinding on a half pipe dominated the room, surrounded by smaller pictures of several bands and scantily clad supermodel Ronnie Lake. But none of that registered.

The first thing that Pietro noticed was the spikes. They were everywhere, dug into the walls and one sticking straight out of Ronnie Lake's head. They looked almost like bone, but that couldn't be right.

Evan lay on the bed, the covers kicked to the floor. At some point he'd thrown up blood and a puddle slowly coagulated on the floor, drying into streaks on the bed. But Evan's days of caring about such things were over. The boy didn't move as Pietro slowly approached the bed and saw that the spikes that impaled the walls were sticking out of his body.

Apprehensively, Pietro reached out and touched one of the spikes. They seemed to be made from bone and they stuck out all over Evan's skin. Some one had to have put them there. Meaning that Evan had been murdered.

Pietro felt disconnected from his own mind, as though it was all a dream. Unnaturally calm, he took another look at the body. There was blood drying around Evan's nose and mouth, obviously having erupted like a geyser before he died and there were smudges on his hands and arms but there was no evidence that the boy had bled from any of the wounds caused by the spikes. Why was that?

Then Pietro snapped out of his trancelike state and saw Evan – _really_ saw him – and realised he was in the same room as a brutalised corpse. With a whine he backed out of the room and sped down the stairs, emerging into the sunlit day and throwing up by the side of the door. He considered another tour of the house to find the phone but immediately quashed the thought. There was no way he was going back into that house, not for all the money in the world.

Instead he raced to the nearest phone box and dialled 911.

The phone rang. And rang. And rang. No one answered. Pietro gripped the phone tightly, his knuckles turning white, resting his head against the glass and breathing heavily. Still no one replied.

"_Shit_!" He slammed the phone into the side of the box, splintering the safety glass and breaking the casing of the receiver. What kind of emergency service didn't even answer the phone?

Suddenly he felt the desperate urge to be at home, where there were no bodies, no blood, people who could do something about this whole thing. It occurred to him that he hadn't seen a soul since he ran out of Evan's house in a panic. It took him only seconds to arrive at his own house. He hadn't seen anyone else that morning but that wasn't unusual. His foster parents weren't exactly morning people.

"Is anyone here?" called Pietro, the need to see another person, a living person, almost overwhelming.

"In here," called his foster father from the living room. Pietro walked in and paused. He was lying on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket, obviously unwell.

"Django, I was at Evan Daniels house and he was…he's dead. And his mother too. I tried to call the cops but no one answered and I don't know what to do!"

"Pietro, calm down." Django burst into coughs and when he looked up, Pietro saw a dribble of blood coming from his nose.

"But there were spikes everywhere! Some one killed him!"

"Calm down! There's nothing you can do about it now."

"But…"

"Pietro let me speak." Django closed his eyes. "There's something bad going on in this city. I don't know what but you're the only person I know who isn't sick. If you couldn't get through to the cops…that's a bad sign. I want you to get out of the city."

"_Leave_?" Pietro gave Django an amazed look. "But my father said…"

"I don't give a shit what your father said. I need you to get out of the city, today. If you stay, you might get sick too. And if people are dying, you don't want to get sick."

"But…" Pietro tried to take in what his foster father was saying. "Is it just confined to New York? What if we're quarantined?"

"You're fast enough to get through a quarantine," replied Django. "And the news said that they have it under control in other areas."

"You believe that?"

Django didn't reply.

Pietro walked to the window and looked out. "Django, I need to know where Wanda is."

"Your father said…"

"I thought you didn't give a shit what my father said. If people are really dying of the flu, I need to know she's alright. I can't just leave her there."

"You're going to break her out?"

"If I need to." Pietro turned back to Django. "I've only been there once, years ago. Every time I go past a building that looks the same I wonder if that's where my sister is. I don't know where it is or how to get there. I need your help."

Django sighed. "I always wanted to tell you. I thought your father was going too far when he had her put away. She was angry yes, but…" He trailed off, deep in thought. "You're right. You need to know. There's a Mr Lomax listed in my address book. That's the head of the institution. There's an address but I've never been there."

"Thanks." Pietro sped over to the dresser where the phone book was kept and lifted it out, turning to the right page. He'd seen the name before but thought nothing of it, not knowing that this was the information that he'd been secretly looking for all these years.

"I'll get out of the city," said Pietro. "But I need to grab some stuff and say goodbye to Marya first…"

"Pack a bag," said Django. "But don't worry too much about Marya. She…she's not coherent at the moment."

Pietro met the mans eyes and wondered what the hell was going on in the city and what he might find when he went for his sister.


	6. Blood Ties

Thanks to:

Todd Fan – Gambit's debut ep was on today and I _hate_ that he had brown eyes! They got it right later on but still…and you're right, the continuity of the whole programme was screwed. Some stuff you can forgive because it is a new take on the X-Men but some stuff is just wrong. How could any of the Evan/ Pietro stuff work if Pietro was an exchange student? Which is why I ignored that whole thing.

TheDreamerLady – I got the idea from a number of places. I've always fancied the idea of depopulating the world and I read a fabulous zombie fic by Furygrrl, which is an Evo/ resident evil crossover (click on to my reviews, find Fury and check out the story, it is seriously scary!) that made me want to try it even more. I've always been a big fan of King's 'The Stand' but I was worried about comparisons (I don't want to write the same story he did with Evo characters in it). So far the whole story is an experiment and I've no idea where it's going! It will continue through to the summer though, when I finally have some free time.

LadyEvils – Ha, my school doesn't believe in heating either, they keep telling us how great it'll be when we get the new building but that doesn't help us now! There will be lots of Lance to make up for the lack of Kitty. Wanda will show up in later chapters but she's not here yet…

UncannyAsianGirl – I think this is the longest review I've ever had, thanks! They're not my real sisters; we've bonded over a love of Rietro! And my real name is Dani not Wanda; I got nicknamed that because I'm less like Miss Moonstar than Miss Maximoff (bi-polar and homicidal). Hey, you're vid was very cool! There are several good videos out there and I have about thirty on my computer but yours was one of the best (right up there with the Xmas vid 'what's this?'). Hmm, about the other vids and the guess the song, I think the U2 might be 'beautiful day' and I Storm vid (I have yet to see a vid dedicated to her!), the No Doubt might be 'Just a Girl' dedicated to the X-girls, Steppenwolf will have to be 'born to be wild' about Logan, Chumbawumba would be 'I get knocked down' (I dunno if that's the proper name of the tune) maybe dedicated to the Brotherhood. As to Garbage and Prince and Sting, I'm not totally up on their stuff so I could only hazard a poor guess. Maybe 'I'm only happy when it rains' dedicated to Storm (my fave Garbage song has to be 'when I grow up') or 'Horny Toad' by Prince dedicated to Todd! I've always liked the idea of making a music vid but have no idea of how to go about it (and even if I did I doubt my crappy computer would be able to cope) so I admire you for being able to do one. And Five for Fighting and Timbuk 3? I've never heard of them, sorry! Weirdly, you're the second person in a week to recommend 'Y the last man' to me and I've never heard of it before. Trask is gonna show up here and Irene…I don't know where she got it from but it wasn't from Mystique. Because she infected so many people they spread all over the US and I guess she got it from a carrier. And I think that Mystique might have been a carrier for a while but now she's free of what she has she can't spread it any more (kinda like Logan and his healing factor, he gets sick for a short time but when she kicks it she's no longer infectious). And damn! You spotted my plan for Rogue. As to accents, in the UK we pronounce Wanda as it is the US but Danielle is another matter…'Ghost of a chance' does my head in because in America my name is pronounced "Dan-_yell_" which is aggravating as hell, it's "Dan-_i_-elle. Have you ever seen the film 'The Full Monty'? I talk more like them. They live further south than I do but it's as close as I can think. Risty is supposed to be from my mums home town which is bull because once you get this far north the pronunciations are more like Americans – for example I wouldn't say "clahss" I'd say "Class". The only accurate thing about Risty was that football is called football and not soccer (horrid word!).

Soulstress – Yeah, Lance has his powers but he hasn't had chance to use them yet. Thanks for the praise!

Crimson Lipstick – I'm not disappointed that I'm not more reviewed for this because at the same time humour is universally appealing whereas something dark is less so. I'm really proud of this fic and I think it'll be one of my best. At the moment I'm trying to study as well as write otherwise I would update more quickly.

Southern Goth Gal – Glad you like it sis! And you printed it all out? How cool is that? The story hugs you right back (and I do too) and I hope you like the rest of it just as much!

00000000000000000000000000

"I won't tell you again! This area is _quarantined_!"

"_Merde_!"

"Dat's inhumane!"

"We need a doctor!"

Remy LeBeau took one look at the barricade the army had hurriedly put up and shook his head. The barricade wasn't strong and wouldn't hold up to a mob but the soldier manning the area was maybe 18 and scared green. If anyone tried to break through the barricade they'd be shot because the kid was afraid. Trying to hang out with the big boys and finding himself up against a frightened crowd of unarmed spectators.

The crowd were almost all ill and every one of them was afraid. They were begging for treatment, the cure, anything to stop them from dying. The soldier knew no answers, only orders. Not a good combination.

He slipped back into the shadows and hurried away. He'd grown up in New Orleans and was familiar with the area, where to go and where to avoid. He hurried down Bourbon Street, the most prolific landmark in the area.

He'd never envisioned it lit up by fire.

People were afraid, scared. The riots had begun several hours before with the locals looting shops. He had no idea who'd set Bourbon Street alight but he did know that no one was coming to sort it out. Either the locals would sort it out or the famous street would burn.

It was time to get away from here.

He briefly considered saying goodbye to Jean-Luc or Belle, but it wasn't his style to drag things out like that. They were sick. That was all. They could live or die without him. He had no desire to watch them struggle when there was no way he could help them and might be putting himself in further danger of contamination.

He kept an apartment close to the French Quarter and he made his way back there. He had possessions but nothing pf particular sentimental value – in his line of work it was better to be able to leave a place behind without a pressing need to return. But he could do with clothes and the spare cards he kept there. He was down to four packs in his coat and running low always made him nervous, especially when people were acting as panicked as they currently.

He grabbed a bag and began shoving clothes into it, not taking the time to choose. There was several grand hiding in various locations around the apartment and wondering if he'd need it threw him somewhat. If New Orleans was anything to go by, most stores wouldn't be open and the customers wouldn't be the paying kind.

Eventually he decided to take the cash. It was inconceivable that this strangeness would last and he'd need to buy stuff along the way. Maybe when order was restored he could return to his apartment. On the other hand he'd been thinking about walking away from the life he had here for a long time. Maybe he'd call the apartment a loss and try his luck somewhere else. If nothing else, Remy was lucky.

He paused at the door to his apartment and had a look at the room. He had no real attachment to the place but he'd had some good times there and furnished it to his own liking. He might never live in a place like this again.

He had a bad feeling; like this was the last time he'd ever see his apartment again.

00000000000000000000000000

The doctor had finally arrived at the Guthrie place, much to Sam's relief. He hadn't been back to school since Amy promised to cover for him, his family were too sick for him to be away from them for long. Eight brothers and sisters, two parents. Ten sick people all demanding things of him.

Sam waited in the living room while the doctor looked in on the family, closing his eyes and feeling himself drift. He was goddamn tired. He'd had barely three hours uninterrupted sleep since the morning Paige had come downstairs and told their mother that she wasn't feeling very well.

"Sam?"

"Huh?" Sam opened his eyes and blinked at the doctor. He hadn't paid too much attention before but it looked like the doctor also had the flu. The mans eyes were bloodshot, like he'd had about as much sleep as Sam and his skin was pale, a veil of sweat on his forehead.

The doctor sat down. "Sammy, I'm gonna be blunt because I don't have the time for anything else. I've still got most of the rest of the neighbourhood to go see. Have you heard the reports on TV about the flu?"

Sam nodded. "Sure, but they said it was under control, that there were medicines on the way. I know it might take a little longer for us to get them way out here but…"

"There is no medicine Sam." The doctor took of his glasses and began cleaning them with his shirtsleeve. "I've been trying to contact my suppliers and there's no response. None of my colleagues that I have managed to speak to know anything about it and all of them have been overrun with cases just like your family. To be honest, I doubt very much that there is any medicine being sent out."

"But…" Sam indicated to the television in the corner. "They said that there was nothing to worry about! That people should be feeling better within a week!"

The doctor was shaking his head before Sam finished speaking. "They're lying Sam. Anything to keep the population from panicking. The last thing the government wants is people rioting for a cure that may not exist."

Sam let the words sink in before he asked the one question that was really on his mind. "So, what about my family?"

"I just don't know." The doctor got to his feet, refusing to meet Sam's eyes. "But I've already signed seven death certificates today…"

_"Death certificates_!" Sam leapt up and grabbed his arm. "Are you trying to say that my family's going to _die_?"

"I don't know." The doctor looked at the floor. "But there's nothing I can do for them. It's out of my hands."

00000000000000000000000000

Fury glared through the one-way mirror that let him see into Wolverine's room but prevented the mutant from seeing out. In spite of the precaution, he had no doubt that Logan was aware of being under scrutiny.

Bolivar Trask walked up behind Fury and glanced through the glass. Logan sat on the edge of the bed in the small room, not watching TV, not pacing the floor. Just waiting. It was unnerving.

"The latest tests on Wolverine's blood samples were failures," said Trask when he realised Fury wasn't going to acknowledge his presence. "They injected him with the virus…"

Fury turned around, giving Trask an angry look. "I didn't authorise that!"

"With respect sir, it wasn't your order to give." Trask tried not to feel gleeful at the obvious resentment Fury was feeling. It was about time the man realised that SHIELD wasn't his personal playground. "Wolverine was injected with the virus and he didn't even get sick. His healing factor stopped it in its tracks. We've taken a blood sample and the antibodies he created are like nothing the scientists have ever seen before."

"Can they be replicated?"

Trask shrugged. "They're trying their best sir, but it's a complicated process. It could take weeks to copy it exactly."

Fury glared at him. "We don't have weeks! We might not even have _one_ week!"

"That's another thing sir," said Trask. "We have four of the bio crew out with the flu and another three are ill but still working. That leaves us with two people who are relatively healthy and it's not enough. It would take the whole team a while to do this and we're working on a skeleton staff. To be honest sir, I think we're screwed."

Fury glanced back through the glass at Logan and pulled out a cigar. "Have they tried injecting a sample of Logan's blood into an infected person?"

"Not possible. Wolverine's healing factor is a vital part of his DNA and it's given him a whole new blood group – they're calling it type D+ in the lab – and they claim that it's impossible to introduce a different blood group to an infected individual. Besides, how much blood can one guy give, even if he does have a healing factor? Not enough for the whole population. We have reports of whole towns infected and there are doctors asking awkward questions."

Fury lit the cigar, glad of something to do with his hands. "Anything else I should know?"

Trask nodded. "Reports of mutant powers being triggered by the illness, usually in terminal cases. Immediately prior to death for the latent cases, at least there are no reports of anything similar before they got sick. A case in Illinois where a girl melted through the floor and vanished, no trace of her since. Another girl in Boston collapsed in some pricey boarding school turning into diamond – _diamond_! A boy setting himself on fire and just burning to a crisp. A pro wrestler that no one could help because they couldn't get through his force field. There are people saying that it's because of the flu, that it's some kind of side effect. So far there's no hint of anything more. Nothing's appeared in the press because it's still being controlled, but how long before some publisher decides that if he's gonna die there's nothing left to lose? We can't keep the fatal nature of the flu secret forever and I think that most people have probably guessed no matter how many 'everything is fine' motions we make in the media. And you have to know that there are going to be reports sooner or later on the weird things that are happening to some reason before they die. If it's believed that the mutations are a side effect of the flu, there'll be more panic than before. But I think if we reveal mutants to humanity, then the issue of the flu might just be pushed into the background."

Fury puffed angrily on the cigar. "You think that by exposing mutants we'll take peoples minds off dieing? It won't."

"But it's something to think about sir."

"No." Fury took the cigar from his mouth and sighed. "How are you feeling Trask?"

Trask allowed himself a smile. "I feel fine sir."

00000000000000000000000000

The room was so devoid of distraction that it only aided the girls already heightened senses. She heard the footsteps a long time before they reached her room and identified them as Dr Risman. There was something a little odd about the way she was walking, more slowly and cautiously than usual.

The door was unlocked and opened slowly, revealing Dr Risman. The girl frowned and sniffed the air. Risman looked sick and the girl could hear her laboured breathing, smell the sour sweat that the doctor was trying to hide with too much perfume. Dr Risman had no business being in work.

"X23." Dr Risman leaned against the door for a moment. "Let's go."

X23 tilted her head to one side and regarded the doctor quizzically.

"Be quiet," said Dr Risman. "We're leaving Hydra. For good."

X23 nodded, suddenly understanding. If Risman was as sick as she looked, then she was trying to put right the things she felt she'd done wrong and the doctor had obviously not been comfortable about some of the things that Hydra were doing regarding her. X23 had wanted to escape Hydra for as long as she could remember, had watched other children of her age on some of her training exercises able to laugh, play, have fun, things she had never been allowed. All she wanted was a normal life and here was her chance to finally have one.

As quietly as she could, X23 got up and followed Risman out of the door and down the corridor. They got to the door leading to the fire exit and headed down the stairs.

"I've wired the cameras here on a loop, so we should be able to get away unseen." Risman kept her voice pitched low, trying to catch her breath. "But if there's trouble – just fight to get out. You can't stay trapped in here, not with what's going on out there."

X23 kept all her senses on alert, hoping that Risman had planned this well. She realised she had no real idea of how to get by in the outside world, having seen only what the Hydra agents had allowed.

At the bottom of the stairs, X23 paused, sniffing the air. There were people on the other side of the door, at least four of them, maybe more…

She had no time to do an olfactory count. Risman opened the door and suddenly there were guns in their faces.

"Oh _shit_!"

"OK doc," said the guy in front. "X23 goes back to the room and you have an appointment with Madame Hydra."

Risman shook her head firmly. "You can't leave her in here! In case you haven't noticed…"

"Either you do as we say or we shoot." The man kept his gun level with her face.

X23 could hear the mans breath, not as laboured as Risman but getting there. Another guy had sweat pouring down his face and a third was pale. There were seven men there to retrieve them and only one of them seemed well.

Without warning she leapt, slicing the first guard's gun cleanly in two and a well-placed boot to the stomach of another knocking him flying. She retracted her claws and punched a guard with an adamantium-laced fist, breaking his jaw and knocking him out cold. The other guards opened fire and she took two glancing wounds before they were all out of the fight.

Risman scrambled up from where she had hit the floor as soon as X23 moved. "GO! There'll be others after us now!"

X23 raced ahead, Risman limping and wheezing after her. Two more guards awaited them through the next door and X23 didn't even pause, popping her claws and slicing through their flesh as she ran. If memory served, there were one more set of doors, electronically locked, then she was in the main reception. That was where the big guns would be.

She paused and turned, noticing that Risman was far behind her. The doctor looked up and saw the girl's hesitation. She waved her onward.

"GO!"

X23 considered her options for a moment and went back for the doctor. There was no way that she could leave her behind, not when she'd risked so much to free her. That would make her the soulless weapon that she was designed to be and she refused to do Hydra's bidding any longer.

Dr Risman allowed X23 to help her walk. "But if you have to leave me, do it. What I've got…people are dying of it. You have to get away! You're healing factor does you no good if you're left trapped here to die of thirst!"

X23 nodded. Most of the doors were tailored to her unique abilities, fortified with adamantium. No amount of healing could help her if she dehydrated.

The next set of doors was one so fortified and X23 glared at it, debating her options. Maybe if she sliced the electronic lock…

Risman tapped in a code and cursed. "The _bitch_! She's overridden all the locks…we can't get out!"

X23 looked around and grinned as she spotted the two-way glass set in the wall beside the door. Small, but it could fit a teenage girl easily. The doctor was petite enough to struggle through too. Of course, that all depended on what awaited them on the other side.

She popped her claws and sliced around the glass, a leap and a kick knocking it into the reception. She heard it shatter, hopefully causing those on the other side to flinch away and a split second later she leapt through the gap, checking out the scene in an instant. Madame Hydra herself was stood there, along with ten guards. The guards were no problem, but Madame Hydra was an amazing martial artist and proficient with weapons. She could be a serious problem. X23 was good but she knew she had a long way to go before she was an expert.

X23 flung herself at the nearest guard and sliced through his arm, the nerves contracting in shock and causing him to take out two of his own men in a spray of gunfire before he dropped the weapon. She had already moved on by then, two more taken out by well-placed punches. A bullet hit her in the thigh and she grimaced, rolling out of the way and sweeping the legs from under the guy who shot her, jumping back up and using his chest as a springboard. Her deceptive heaviness took the wind from him and she kicked another guard, the claw in her toe extended, slicing through the skin high on his chest, almost at his neck. The guard saw the blood and assumed he'd been mortally wounded, gagging and trying to run. Claws took out two more guys as she dodged bullets to get to them, taking one in the knee and the other deep in the side. The final guard faced her down, watching her through the sight of his gun as she smirked at him. Then he remembered pressing issues he had elsewhere and fled.

Madame Hydra hadn't moved throughout the conversation, watching as her favourite weapon disposed of the highly paid guards. Now she glanced at X23 and smiled.

"You might have gotten this far," she said in heavily accented English. "But the good doctor has forgotten one thing."

X23 blinked in surprise as Madame Hydra pulled out a box that resembled a remote control. "This is a detonator that vill activate an electric pulse in your brain. This escape attempt is over."

She pressed a button on it and X23 braced herself for unconsciousness.

Madame Hydra scowled as nothing happened and pressed the button again. Still nothing.

"You were double crossed."

Madame Hydra glanced up as Dr Risman spoke. She had managed to get through the gap in the wall and retrieve on of the guns from the fallen guards. Before Madame Hydra could move, Dr Risman fired.

X23 gaped as Madame Hydra took on an almost comically confused expression. A hole appeared in her forehead, a slow trail of blood emerging from it. The wound certainly didn't look to serious but Madame Hydra fell forward, revealing the much larger and more grisly exit wound in the back of her head, her green hair singed.

Dr Risman lowered the gun slowly, panting. X23 went over and prised the gun from her hands.

"We have to get out of here," muttered Dr Risman.

X23 threw the gun to the floor and looked around at the carnage. "But where…where will we go?"

This seemed to throw Risman for a moment. "Uh…I have a car outside. We'll get as far away from here as we can. We can't go back to my place, they'll have it under surveillance."

X23 helped Dr Risman out of the building, wondering just how far the doctor would be able to drive them in her condition. And if the organisation that was Hydra would ever let her get away.


	7. Within These Walls

Thanks to:

Todd Fan – They really didn't do a great deal about New Orleans on the show did they? Although one of the eps taking him and Rogue there was cool, I liked that one! Sammy will be showing up in the next chapter and so will Rogue, but I try to keep the chapters to about 9 pages and this one got full up before I got to them.

TheDreamerLady – I never even thought that Emma might not die in her diamond form! Oops. I like writing different stuff, the humour usually happens between major angst fics just so I can lighten up for a while! I actually began writing a humerous Lancitty Valentines fic but I really don't have the time for it at the moment so it'll probably end up being posted ludicrously late. Or next year!

LadyEvils – The fire kid was called Rusty Collins, he appeared in some of the comics mostly as an Acolyte and was killed by Holocaust. I liked the idea that if no one realised mutants existed that they might think their powers are a bizarre side-effect of the flu and tried to use it. It might actually become a recurring theme in later chapters.

Chilean Rose – I'm glad you're enjoying it! It's the first really dark fic that I've written and I always appreciate knowing that it's good.

Telepathic Angel – Scott and Jean in this chapter! But Sam's out of action until the next chapter (for which he's probably grateful!)

UncannyAsianGirl – I don't have Windows XP, I'm still on the '98 version! I did have it but my computer crashed and I had to reinstall '98 again. Rogue and Mystique are in the next chapter! And the films you mentioned are all based at the other end of the country, I really don't sound like them…I know! There's a wrestler in WWE who's from my home town, he puts on a posh voice but sometimes he talks normally and then he really sounds like me, it's quite weird. It was funny, they pre-bleep the programme when they send it to the UK and they bleep 'ass' and 'piss' which aren't considered rude but they didn't bleep 'pillock' which is a _bad word_ and then showed it on Saturday lunchtime, that was great. Soccer does sound like "sock her", which actually means to punch! Onto the fic – Remy will have to go through Mississippi to get away from New Orleans and he might just pick up a passenger ;) I have no idea how Rogue learned to ride a snowmobile, I can't envision Irene teaching her. Thanks for the info on the X-Men site! I was dreading having to search my collection for all their names, I'm pretty sure I didn't have them all and I could only remember Paige, Elizabeth and Joshua. And now I can look up Trask, I don't seem to have anything on him at all for some reason. Rogue's blood type changing every time she absorbs a power? I've never thought about it before but that would make sense. The flame mutant was Rusty Collins, one of the Acolytes and the wrestler was Unus (Angelo Unuscione) who was in the Brotherhood and Blob's best friend. Freddy thought he was dead but Pietro found him in Genosha. His power is an impenetrable force field and his kid was apparently killed by Avalanche. Originally I was going to have Dr Risman killed during the escape and I don't quite know what happened there…she's fun to write though because she has no real history and her comic book equivalent has a different name. Looking forward to seeing more music vids from you!

**Author Note: **I'm having a lot of computer problems at the moment so if the next chapter is a little late it's because it's being repaired. And apologies to everyone who wonders what the hell happened to the end of the last chapter of 'Viva Lost Wages', FF cut the end off! That happened at the end of my first fic and everyone thought I'd just tacked on a crap ending. That sucked.

00000000000000000000000000

"I don't _believe _this!" Jean threw the phone across the room in frustration and buried her head in her hands. The third time she'd tried to call an ambulance and still there was no response. What the hell kind of emergency service didn't pick up when you called?

The mental control she'd had over Storm hadn't lasted long and there had to be people noticing the freaky weather by now. All her energies were going into keeping the Professor out of her head. She knew he couldn't help it, but she still didn't want him poking around her brain. Scott had thrashed around so much he'd knocked the ruby quartz glasses off and blown a hole in the roof of the mansion. She'd eventually managed to force his battle visor on, going into his mind and making sure he didn't open his eyes. He seemed to think she was his brother Alex, dead years before in the same plane crash that left him an orphan.

She'd tried calling Ororo's sister in New York, but there had been no response. Her own parents were away on holiday and weren't due back for another three days and her sister wasn't answering her phone either. There was no one else she could think of to help her. She was on her own.

She walked slowly back into the Professor's room, hoping he was awake and lucid and able to tell her what to do. Taking care of three ill mutants was not fun. Her hopes were dashed when she saw him lying on the bed, still and quiet. She smiled slightly. That at least had to be a good sign. The horrible raspy way he'd been breathing that day had stopped…

The smile died on her lips. Her hand gripped the door handle tightly and she had to consciously force herself to let go. Her footsteps dragged along the carpet as she neared the bed and time seemed to slow to a crawl.

Professor Xavier lay on his side, his eyes open and sightless. He wasn't breathing.

"Professor?"

Jean barely recognised the hoarse whisper as her own. There was no response from the man on the bed.

"_Professor_!"

She reached out and shook him violently, her mind going blank. She couldn't think through the panic running through her. The only move the Professor made was due to Jean's actions.

She reached out with her mind and tried to speak to him telepathically, immediately recoiling in horror. The nerve endings were alive but there was no thought there, no sign of his mind left.

He was dead.

"No. No. No no no no no…"

She backed away from the bed, her eyes never leaving the body on the bed. Her back hit the door and she shrieked, whirling around to see what was there. Without the body in view, it almost seemed like something she'd imagined.

She looked over her shoulder and saw that the Professor still hadn't moved.

Her nerve broke.

She ran from the room as fast as she could, sobbing loudly, not thinking about where she was going until she got to Scott's room and crashed through the door.

"Alex? Is it morning already?"

Jean slammed the door behind her, leaning against it and breathing hard. The sensible, levelheaded side of her was coming out and shoving her panic aside. _You still have Scott and Ororo to look after. You have to do something…_

_Oh God, what if they die too?_

She buried that thought quickly. No one else was going to die around here. She wouldn't let them.

"You'd better not have broken my fire truck…"

She glanced over at Scott, noting his paleness and the twitchy way he moved. It was no good. There was no way she could keep them from the hospital and to hell with people finding out they were mutants. But no one had answered when she'd rung the ambulance.

She was going to have to take them herself.

"Scott, where are your car keys?"

"That Duncan Matthews thinks he's such hot shit…"

Jean went over to the bed and rested a hand on Scott's forehead. He was burning up. Making a frustrated sound, she searched Scott's dresser. Nothing. Maybe it would be a mistake to take Scott's convertible anyway. The Professor's car would be more suitable.

She couldn't face going into his room again.

Instead, she went downstairs and checked his study. There were keys in there, three sets. Perfect. She picked up the phone there on the desk and tried calling an ambulance again. Still no reply. Thoughtfully, she pulled out the phone book and tried the hospital. It rang for a long time and she was about to give up when a tired voice said, "Hello?"

"Is this the hospital?"

"No babe, it's the fucking morgue."

Jean blinked. "Excuse me?"

"There's no one here," said the voice. It sounded to Jean like a teenage boy, thirteen or fourteen and getting toward hysteria. "The doctors all have the flu. There's no one looking after anyone. This place is full of corpses."

"You mean there's no _point_? I need _help_!"

"No help to be had here. They can't do anything. My mom…they brought her here two days ago and she died and they've just _left her there_! No one knows what's going on and there's no one answering the phones and there are no doctors…"

Jean closed her eyes, her heart going out to the scared kid at the other end of the phone. "Look, come over here. I'm at the Xavier Institute. Can you find your way here?"

"No point." The kids voice had gone flat. "I've got the flu. Started yesterday. Not too bad yet but I'm not lying to myself. I'm already dead."

"No, don't give up!"

"You haven't seen this place. It's a morgue. The city, maybe the whole state. Hell, the whole country for all I know. My advice is to just get the hell out of here before you get it too."

"There must be something we can do!"

"There isn't. I came back here because I saw what the flu did to my mom and no way am I going through that. I went home after…when she died and no one thought to look after me and that means they were too busy to think I might be alone. And when I came back she was still there. I'm going in the medical supplies and going out bombed."

"No, wait! Don't – "

Too late. The boy hung up on her and she replaced the handset slowly. The hospital was out of the question. The Professor was dead, his body lying upstairs. There were two people with the same illness that had killed him and there was nothing she could do to help them.

She was on her own.

She sat in the chair near the desk, drew her knees up to her chest and began to cry quietly.

00000000000000000000000000

Pietro looked up at the building. It seemed to have been built to intimidate. He remembered it well, the last place he had seen his sister while she was dragged away, screaming for help. He hadn't done anything to help her, realising even then that it would be futile. He wondered if Wanda saw things the same way.

His plan was to walk into the building and ask to visit her. Then he would utilise his super-speed and get her out. That way he didn't have to fight his way through security until she was in his grasp, didn't have to worry about locks and electronic keypads. That kind of thing would only slow him down.

He walked into the building and paused. He hadn't been expecting a receptionist waiting for him to visit Wanda, but he had envisioned some one being there to question him. What he hadn't expected was no one. But there it was, the main reception area and no one was there at all.

Maybe they all have the flu and they left Wanda to starve… 

"Hello! Is anyone here?"

There was no reply. Pietro walked over to the desk and rooted through the drawers until he found a card, which seemed to be what he needed to unlock the doors. Still no one apprehended him.

This was too creepy.

He swiped the card through the lock on the door leading to the rest of the building. It admitted him easily, a quiet _bleep_ the only sound. Still no one ran to ask him what he was doing.

From what Pietro had seen on the TV, he expected the place to be noisy with people screaming and crying. It wasn't like that. It was eerily quiet.

He peered into a room, the gap in the door barred. It was little better than a prison. There was no one in the room, but he could make out a tiny living area and an open door revealed a bathroom within. Wanda had been living in a place like this, where she couldn't even use the bathroom privately? He would have gone insane within five minutes. Then he reconsidered the metaphor and walked on.

There were quite a few empty cells before he got to one with an occupant. A boy lay on the cot in the corner, the lower half of his face bathed in snot and blood. Pietro shuddered. The boy wasn't moving and he had to assume the kid was dead. Just like Evan.

For the first time he wondered if Wanda had the flu and dismissed the idea. He'd know if she was dead.

He crept further into the institution, trusting his instincts to guide him to the right place. He couldn't face looking into another cell, not if he was going to see a body. He took a right and then walked along the long corridor, guessing that Wanda would be in the maximum-security area. That would be far away from the rest of the inmates.

Guessing that he was far enough in the building, he peered through into a cell. No one there. The next one bore the same results. Pietro clenched his fists in frustration and checked out the cell next to that.

There was a girl in the cell and for a moment he thought it was his sister. She had black hair and her back was to him, she was wearing the shapeless garments the institution called clothes. Then he realised it wasn't Wanda. Her hair was too long and she wore it in pigtails, a style Wanda wouldn't have had even as a child.

"Um…" Pietro rubbed his neck nervously. "Excuse me?"

The girl turned and grinned at him. "Hi there."

"Do you know where I can find Wanda Maximoff?"

The girl shrugged. "About three or four cells over. I can't be sure."

"You can't be sure?"

"I talk to her sometimes when we're supposed to be sleeping. But I've not _seen_ her. She's supposed to be dangerous."

"You talk to her from here?"

"Yeah, if it wasn't for her I'd have gone mad!"

Pietro glanced around and decided to take a chance. "_Wanda!_"

"Pietro?"

"Wanda?"

Pietro sped over to a cell four cells over from the one with the girl in it. "Is that you?"

"Get me out of here."

"I will." Pietro looked through the bars and saw his sister for the first time in years. She had changed, just as he had. She was taller, her hair long and unkempt. She wasn't the little girl he remembered.

He used the card to gain exit to Wanda's room and opened the door. She almost fell out of the room and threw her arms around him.

"I knew you'd come! I knew it all along!"

"We have to go." Pietro extracted herself from her hug and glanced around. "I don't know how long before a guard catches us."

"They haven't been here for two days," replied Wanda. "I had water but no food. I don't know what's happening!"

"They must have the flu," said Pietro. "I've got to get you out of here."

"That reminds me…" Wanda punched Pietro in the arm. "You should have been here years ago! You just left me here!"

"I didn't have a choice! I didn't know where this place was or how I could get you out. I've…I've missed you."

Wanda smiled slightly. "I missed you too – but you should have got me out before now. How did you get me out by the way?"

"Stole the key card."

"Will that open any cell here?"

"Seems to."

"Good." Wanda ran a hand through her hair. "You need to let the others out."

"You're joking!" Pietro gave her a look of disbelief. "Dangerous lunatics and you want to just let them out?"

"Are you calling me a dangerous lunatic?"

"No!"

"Then shut up. The other people in here are the same as me and unless you let them go, they might die of starvation. You can't leave them in here."

Pietro saw her point. "But if anyone tried to kill me, they go straight back into a cell."

"Agreed." Wanda stuck out her hand and Pietro shook it solemnly. It was an old ritual of theirs.

"There's hardly anyone left," Pietro warned as he ran the key card through the lock binding the girl he'd seen earlier. "But I can unlock all the doors and give them a chance I guess."

The other girl in the cell shoved the door open and walked out, grinning at Wanda. "I knew you wouldn't let me sit in there!"

"No problem Lisa," replied Wanda. "How you feeling?"

"Fine," said Lisa. "Good to be getting out of this dump. I'm going to get an ice cream. You've got black hair. I always thought you'd look like a Barbie doll."

Wanda frowned. "Uh, why?"

"Don't know. Are you really dangerous?"

"That depends on my mood." Wanda shrugged. "Right now I'm in a good mood."

"But you never tried to escape?"

"Of course I did. But they did something to my room; I never could use my powers in there. Did you?"

"Yeah. Never got very far though." Lisa glanced at Pietro. "Is this your brother?"

"Yeah."

"The one you were going to disembowel?"

"Yeah."

"Can I watch?"

"No one's gonna disembowel me!" Pietro waved the key card at Wanda. "Are we letting these people out or are you two going to spend all day going over old memories?"

Wanda snatched the key card and began opening doors indiscriminately, throwing them open and leaving them that way without waiting to see if anyone else was coming out. Lisa wandered off down the hallway and Pietro glanced into some of the rooms his sister was opening. Most were empty, one was a broom closet. Two of the rooms he looked in had people in but they were lying on their beds and hardly moving. They had to be sick.

Between them, Wanda and Pietro opened every door in the building. Fourteen of the inmates were well enough to leave. Thirty-two were dead. A further nine people stayed in their rooms, too ill or scared to leave.

"Let's get out of here," said Pietro as the final door was opened. He desperately wanted to leave.

Wanda glanced at the front doors. "Pietro…does Father know you're here?"

"No."

"Thank you."

"I couldn't just leave you here." Pietro gave her a smile. "I haven't seen Father for a while. I don't know where he is."

"I'll find him," said Wanda, her voice cold. "And when I do, he'll pay for what he did to me."

00000000000000000000000000

Logan was getting worried.

When he first arrived at the facility there had been doctors taking his blood samples twice a day and Fury had kept him updated as to the progress – or lack thereof – that had been made on the cure. He hadn't seen Fury for two days now. His duties seemed to have been taken over by Trask, some one that Logan didn't trust. The man was cold and hard, the type of man who couldn't be reasoned with. And Logan could sense that Trask didn't like him. There was no question who would win in a fight, but getting into that situation was something he'd rather avoid.

Fury had confided that they were getting nowhere fast with a cure. Given a few more weeks and they would have nailed it, but there weren't a few more weeks. The virus had spread too far and too fast. By the time a cure was made, those who were infected would be dead and the only people around to take it would be those already immune.

The immunity didn't seem to follow any pattern. The few people they knew who were immune had nothing in common. Some were mutants but not all of them. They were of different ages, races, backgrounds. There seemed to be no link between them. That had been the most information Logan had got from Fury before he just stopped coming and he had seemed run down and unwell then. Maybe Fury had gone down with the damn flu too, or perhaps some one in SHIELD hierarchy had decided that Logan shouldn't know too much and pulled Fury from the base.

Thoughtfully, Logan went to the side of the room and popped a claw, running it down the wall. Just as he had suspected. The walls were made of adamantium and that meant he wasn't going to be able to slice his way out of here. And he was locked in, ostensibly for security reasons – SHIELD were always paranoid about that – but that didn't make him any less of a prisoner.

There were always other ways out of a room given the time to think about it, but he already knew what his next move would have to be. The only person taking his blood samples over the last twenty-four hours had been Trask. The next time he arrived, he would have to overpower the man and get the hell out of there.

And then he was going to Bayville, to check in on an old friend. If anyone knew what was going down, it was Professor Charles Xavier.


	8. Facing The Future

Thanks to:

Todd Fan – This fic is gonna get darker before there's light at the end of the tunnel for our mutants.

XME – The flu will finish before the fic does. I've no concrete plans for the end of the fic although I'm working with some ideas.

TheDreamerLady – I don't know about Emma! Presumably she's been taken to a SHIELD lab somewhere…My computer probs are still ongoing but the real reason behind the wait for this chapter is a damn good case of writers block coupled with a lot of homework.

UncannyAsianGirl – Lol, I think I answered most of your questions in the E-mail! I will be sending the next one tonight, I've barely turned on the computer over the last couple of days but I did start to type it up! Magneto is just too damn tenacious to die that easily but he won't be showing up for a while at least.

00000000000000000000000000

Rogue hadn't slept for two days. Irene had seemed to be getting better, she had been lucid and her temperature had gone down. But that hadn't lasted long. The temperature had returned suddenly and Irene had been muttering incoherently for almost eighteen hours. Rogue had tried to give her cold water and hadn't stopped phoning the doctor, still with no success. No one from school had called to see where she was. She was beginning to think that something was seriously wrong not just in their house, but across the whole of Caldecott County.

She was exhausted and afraid, wishing she knew what to do. The only thing she could think of was to leave the house and get the doctor herself. She could drive almost anything, although she had no recollection of ever being taught. The only thing that stopped her was a superstitious dread, the nagging thought that something would happen to Irene the moment she turned her back. She told herself it was stupid, that her presence or lack thereof was going to make no difference to Irene's recovery – but she couldn't bring herself to leave Irene alone in the house.

Heading into her third sleepless night, Rogue sat on the chair beside the bed and tried to keep watch over her adoptive mother. Her eyes were heavy and she felt herself beginning to doze…

The bedside light went out, plunging the room into darkness. Rogue snapped herself awake and clicked the button irritably. The light stayed off. Frowning, she stood and went over to the window. None of the neighbours had any light on either and the streetlights were off. Power cut.

"That's just great," she muttered under her breath.

"_Raven_?" Irene twisted around in the bed and Rogue hurried back to the bed, wondering who Raven was. Irene had spoken that name several times in her delirium yet Rogue had never heard her mention it before now.

"Ah'm right here," said Rogue, glancing around for her gloves. She had a skin condition that her dermatologist had said was infectious and she shouldn't have skin contact with anyone, although she had to wonder how a little eczema could make Irene any worse.

"The girl…Raven, the girl!"

"Irene, hush. Save your strength."

"Why did you have to go after that virus?"

Rogue sighed and gave up searching for the gloves. The inky blackness of the room had rendered her as sightless as Irene. There were no lights on nearby and the darkness was total.

"Rogue…I have to tell you something."

"Huh?" Rogue started at the sound of her own name, wondering if Irene was back with her. "What do you have to tell me?"

"You can't…don't blame yourself."

"What? Irene…"

Irene began to cough, the rasping deep within her chest making Rogue shudder. She tried to sit Irene up slightly, resting her hand on the back of the woman's head and feeling her usually clean hair a tangle of knots and grease beneath her fingers.

When the coughs tapered off, she laid Irene's head back on the pillow and sighed, wondering if Irene's relapse would wear off quickly. She reached out and felt across the bed for Irene's hand, taking it in her own to try to provide some comfort…

There was a weird sensation; a tingle like static electricity coursing through her and a flash of memory filled her head.

A child of privilege, born into an age when science and romance walked hand in hand and into a society that felt its birthright was to rule the world… 

When she was 13, she gained the ability to perceive the future in all its myriad permutations. It came upon her with a terrible rush and irresistible force, like an avalanche, threatening to overwhelm her. Somehow she managed to resist this onslaught…

Her 'gift' had a price. She could 'see' the future but she had become physically blind. Much of what she 'saw' was in languages unknown to her, in code and in pictograms, involving places she'd never heard of and scores of people yet unborn. Some images were more fanciful – and terrifying – than the wildest flights of her imagination…

Her challenge was to determine which scenario was the true timeline and which the most desirable and if necessary to bring the two together. To aid in her quest she enlisted the services of a consulting detective named Raven Darkholme…

With a gasp, Rogue tried to pull away but Irene tightened her grip on the girls hand and although her hold was weak, Rogue was too startled to do anything about it, too overwhelmed with memories that were not her own.

…I perceive the form the girls powers will take…

…Don't go to Thailand…

…The boy needs a family he will join us willingly…

…Moves the earth…

…Red on black heading this way…

…The sins of the father visited upon the children…

…Riding to Bayville…

…This is power; this is what true power is all about…

"NO!" Rogue yanked her hand forcibly away from Irene and took three steps backward, reality coming back and replacing the bright jumble of words and images with absolute darkness. Breathing hard, she ran a shaky hand through her hair.

What the hell…what happened?

Heart beating rapidly, she was distracted for a moment by a light by the window. For a moment she thought it was another vision or memory, then realised some one outside had a torch, its faint illumination enough for her to see but not enough for her to see by.

"Ah can see?"

She negotiated her way to the window by memory alone and looked out, seeing the light throwing its bearer in silhouette.

"But…how? How can ah see? Who am ah?"

Two opposing sets of memories battled in her head. One part of her was saying she had always lived in the South, for the last five years in Caldecott County, she was a teenage girl with a skin condition and perfect vision who didn't really fit in around school and was brought up by her blind foster mother. Another part of her said she'd left her teens behind years before and had been blind since then, that she could see the future and she was part of some secret organisation called the Brotherhood…

"Who am ah?"

Struggling to remember which of the memories were hers and which were not, she hit on an idea. If she could see, that suggested she was a teenage girl and therefore not Irene. Irene was her adoptive mother and was lying on the bed where she'd been left after – something – had happened.

Turning, Rogue found that the light had only served to make the darkness more intimidating. She could hear the hammering of her heartbeat in her ears and forced herself to calm down. There was an easy way to prove or disprove her identity and that was to see whom, if anyone, was in the bed.

Memory played a large part in getting her to the bed, Irene's memory being the easiest way for the blind woman to find her way around a familiar room. She found her way to the bed and groped for the woman's form. Irene lay in the bed, unmoving.

"Irene? Is that you?"

There was no response from the woman in the bed and Rogue realised three things at once. She couldn't hear Irene breathing, she didn't respond to her daughters voice and she knew who she was, if not how she'd got Irene's memories.

"Irene?"

Nothing. Rogue reached out to shake the woman and hesitated. Something had happened the last time she'd touched her, something unpleasant. If something had happened, maybe it would happen again. Instead she made her way into her own bedroom and found where she kept her candles and a lighter, the flame proving to her that she wasn't blind. She lit the candle and hurried back to Irene's room, using the light to see what was happening.

Irene's eyes were partly open, revealing the clouded orbs that had been sightless for decades. Sweat was drying on her brow and at some point since the loss of light blood had run from her mouth and was now drying in rivulets on her cheeks. It didn't matter what Rogue did from now. Irene was beyond saving.

"No, oh no." Rogue's voice was small and hurt. She reached out a hand, hesitated for a moment and rested her fingers on Irene's face. There was no repeat of the strange thing that had happened before. The skin was already cooling, the last vestiges of the fever dissipating.

Rogue shook her head, hardly feeling the pain as candle wax spilled onto her hand. The woman on the bed was her mother and she was dead. Rogue knew that. But another part of her was insisting that her name was Irene Adler and she was staring into her own dead eyes.

00000000000000000000000000

Lance hadn't told anyone he was going. Who was there to tell? His foster parents were sick and he had no desire to watch them sicken and die. They had no great bond, nor did he bear them any animosity, but he wasn't about to hang around and tell them that everything was all right when it clearly wasn't, waiting for the day when he woke up with the flu.

There had been a couple of hundred dollars lying around the house, not much but better than nothing. He didn't think that money was about to help him. The sick and the scared rarely hung around to pay for anything, nor did they show up to open shops and serve customers. That stuff was there for the taking and people had been taking everything they wanted. Northbrook was a small town but it had its fair share of shops and banks, which had already been plundered. Lance had been tempted to go help himself to anything he wanted but in the end had opted to stay the hell out of the way. Seeing the scene at the girl's house had freaked him out more than he cared to admit. Some rumours had been going around the town, many people whispering that the flu would eventually make you disintegrate. Just like the girl he had seen.

He knew better.

A few months earlier he had been fighting a killer headache. It would go for as long as three hours and then return as bad as ever. It had gone on for a fortnight and throughout that time he had gritted his teeth, taken enough painkillers to kill a rhino and taken a lot of time off school. He'd begun to wonder if he had a tumour or something. Then one day, thankfully left alone in the darkened house with his head still pounding, something in his head seemed to push and the house began to shake. Alarmed, he sat up and watched as the lights began shaking, the force in his head still pushing. He felt his eyes roll back in his head and wondered if it was some symptom of a fit, if this was the last hallucination before his tired mind simply blew out like an overloaded light bulb.

Then suddenly the house stopped shaking and his headache was gone as if it had never been there.

He had wondered what the hell had happened and at first, when he realised that he could cause the ground to shake whenever he wanted, he'd been afraid. He couldn't tell anyone. Even if they did believe him, what would they do about it? Lock him away? And surely if they did, he could knock down walls with a thought. After a while though, the fear had given way to a low-key excitement. He could do anything he wanted, go anywhere. If anyone tried to stop him, he could bury them. That was the main reason he'd let Pete and Griff in on his secret. It made him look cool, powerful, showed them who was in charge.

Occasionally he'd wondered if there was anyone else out there like him, some one who could make the earth shake with just a thought. It had never occurred to him that other people might have different powers until he saw the scene at the girl's house. She had fallen through the floor and he doubted it was a side effect of the flu. It was a power just like his and her illness had made her lose control of it. Even if she had managed to stop falling, the alternative was being buried beneath the earth, unable to breathe, trapped too far down to ever come back up again…

No way. That wasn't going to happen to him. He had to get away from these people. If his power ever went out of control then he could bring half the town down around his ears, leaving him in exactly the same place the girl had ended up. Trapped under a ton of rubble, running out of air even as he brought more debris down on himself.

He had to get away from people who might infect him.

He'd loaded up the jeep and drove off into the night, refusing to let his mind contemplate that he might be running away. After all, there was nothing left for him to do. He drove through the night, not really sure where he was heading. When he got to the freeway he paused and took a quarter out of his pocket. Heads he went west, tails he went east.

The eagle gleamed dully in his hand and he indicated the turn, heading toward Indiana.

He wasn't the only one with the same idea. Traffic was heavy, people with an entire lifetime worth of possessions crammed hurriedly in their cars. He could barely get above thirty miles an hour and that was in the middle of the night. Angrily, he slammed his fist into the steering wheel and laid on the horn, knowing it would do no good. For the time being, he was stuck in a row of traffic with hundreds of other people trying to flee the sickness.

00000000000000000000000000

Mystique growled as the lights in the Brotherhood house went out, stuttered back to life briefly and then died for good. She had been trying to get through to Irene again but she suspected that Rogue had turned the phone onto silent. It rang, but there was no reply.

I have to know if Irene is dead…

For the first time in her life, she had no idea what to do. All she knew is that she was responsible. For every sick person, for every death, for everyone looking after their terminally ill family and praying for a miracle. She was responsible.

The guilt was too much to bear.

She had forbidden Todd to leave the house. She had fixated on his well being in a way that she knew wasn't healthy but she couldn't seem to help it. She had a son of a similar age stranded in Germany, a daughter in Mississippi who didn't remember her. She had no way of knowing if either of them was alive or dead. If they had caught the flu it was because of her.

A part of her was crying out for her to go to the Xavier Institute. Maybe if she told the Professor what she knew they could collaborate somehow. Yet her pride wouldn't let her. She wasn't ready to go to the mansion and tell them how she'd screwed up, ask for their help, join their crusade. Not that there was much to crusade for now.

And she had no way of knowing if any of them were still alive.

The virus had hit Bayville hard. She had left the house in bird form and flown to the heart of New York City. Her worst fears had been confirmed. Times Square had been filled with looters, throwing bricks through windows and climbing into the shops, taking whatever they could. A teenager navigating his way through the rioters had been hit in the head with a brick. An elderly man was trampled in the rush as looters tried to flee the sound of a siren, the cop car that turned up being manned by a lone police officer with a runny nose and no way to stem the tide of frightened people joining the mobs.

There were few police about that day and most of the rioters were sick. Mystique had morphed into a normal human form and watched in dismay as she saw what she was responsible for. There was no way that anyone could cope with what was happening here.

She wanted to do something, say something that would make the difference. But there was nothing to say, nothing that anyone could do now. All she could do was to go back to Bayville and hope that Todd didn't go down with the flu. He had come to the Brotherhood hoping for something more than he'd had in the home. She wasn't about to remove him from there to die with some one who didn't care for his feelings, only his powers. She hadn't been a mother to her own kids but she could still help Todd, guide him into a world where everyone was dead.

Todd himself was getting stir-crazy being cooped up in the Brotherhood house. He understood that there was some bad shit going on, but if he were going to get the flu surely he would have got it already. But he was still a little frightened of Mystique and she forbade him to go out, which left him sitting in front of the television. The flu was the main story on the news channels and they said that everyone should be feeling better within a week. Todd didn't know if they were fooling anyone.

00000000000000000000000000

Sam was digging.

He could have used his powers to make the holes in the garden but that wouldn't feel right. This was his family. They deserved to have things done right.

Twelve holes He was done. They weren't as deep a he would have liked – he had heard that typically graves were six feet deep – but it was the best he could do. And as long as they were buried, that was the important thing.

He started with Paige. She was the furthest away from the garden and he figured he was going to get tired before long. In the extremities of the sickness she had torn off her skin, revealing some hard metallic substance beneath. But now she was dead, she had shown that skin was beneath the strange stuff and he was glad. Caring for the family had been hard enough without wondering if Paige was a robot.

He wrapped her in the blanket that had been on her bed and carried her out into the garden. She was heavier now, her slight body weighing more than he had envisioned. But he didn't hesitate, carrying her outside and to her grave.

"Goodnight Paige," he said, aware that tears were coursing down his cheeks and dismally aware there would be more to come throughout the day. "I love you little sister."

He placed her body into the hole, unable to look away from her face. This was the last time he would see his baby sister. She had liked music, singing tonelessly in the shower, reading old Garfield books. But everything that he had loved about her was gone now. She would never grow up, never be around to annoy him, never date the school bad boy, never dye her hair some bizarre colour and make his parents scream. She was dead. This was the end.

He sank to his knees beside the grave, knowing that he had eleven more graves to fill with his brothers and sisters and parents and not knowing if would be able to bear it. Paige. His baby sister. He was burying her and it felt so unreal. She was fourteen years old and dead. There was nothing left for her now save the cold ground.

"I'm sorry," he said, resting his hands on the ground and grasping handfuls of earth. "I'm sorry Paige. I'm so sorry. I should have saved you. I should have been able to save you. I'm sorry. I just wish – I wish you were still here. I love you Paige."

Paige, wrapped in her blanket, her eyes closed and her skin cold and white, didn't reply. Lying at the bottom of her grave, she looked more fragile than she ever had done in life.

Sam choked back his sorrow and started shovelling dirt on his baby sister, unable to turn away even as her delicate features were obscured by dirt. He had to do this eleven more times before he was finished. Eleven more outpourings of sorrow and grief before he was done.

Everyone was dead.

He was alone.


	9. Cameras

Thanks to:

TheDreamerLady – Gah, I never even thought about the, um, _interesting_ thoughts Irene had about Raven which might get passed on! Sammy won't be alone for too long don't worry!

LadyEvils – You'll find out about Rogue's powers in this chapter! You're right, I haven't said that he's got his powers but then I haven't made up my mind if he has or not yet. I've gone in a bit of a weird direction with Lance, hope you like!

Spyder616 – I was pretty mean to Sam. But he's not the only one I'm tormenting…

Todd Fan – I did copy the Destiny stuff from the comic but missed out a lot of the diary stuff. And I'm going to start being nicer to Sam!

Minnalouche – Don't rule out lynch mobs yet – things have got to stabilise at some point. I wanted to use some mutants that I don't use very often or see in others works as well as some of the more popular ones. I'm pretty sure that Kitty is dead because I don't think she can use her phasing powers to escape illness and no matter what happened when she fell through the earth…ug!

Soulstress – Glad you're enjoying it! I'm going to start being nice to Sam. Well, slightly less mean anyway.

Southern Goth Gal – I knew the Prof was murdered! Sis how could you? Ha ha, you know my fave characters couldn't get killed off!

UncannyAsianGirl – Thanks for letting me know about the cut/paste error, I'll get on that at the same time as I post this! Most of the memory flashes will be incorporated into the fic at some point. Looks out for the man with the red eyes in this chapter! Hey, my whole knowledge of what direction Lance is heading in comes from an online map, but I've got him heading North-East from Illinois (I decided that was where Northbrook was because that's where Kitty is from in the comics). My way of thinking was if you're gonna die anyway, why not indulge in a little arson and senseless destruction? Maybe that's just the Pyro side of me coming out. Sam will cross paths with other would-be X-Men but it might take a while yet. A couple of the unmentioned New Recruits may pop up later on in the fic. And damn! You figured out my future plans for Jean! Can't wait for the 'Born to be Wild' vid.

FuryGrrl – Great to have you back! I know I already said it once but it bears repeating. I have read 'The Mist' but haven't thought of the story directly in a long time (I don't have the book although I think my mum does). What I do remember is King's description of the story in his notes at the end of the book where he says "My muse shat on my head" which isn't exactly what my muse does…one has to wonder! I couldn't find anything out about Toad's early years so I had to make most of it up. The supermodel pic on Evan's wall? Ronnie Lake is one of Mystique's alter-egos. I just had to have that in there somewhere! You guessed my main cast of characters right and in the next chapter a few of them are going to meet up. And I couldn't get rid of all the best specimens of Evo manhood! That would be just cruel to all of us. Jean's luck is going to change soon…but not this chapter. And I have been exceptionally mean to Sam but his luck's gonna change too. Mystique and Todd will be back in the next chapter. And thanks for all the praise!

00000000000000000000000000

Closed Circuit Television or CCTV is a staple of most towns, most shops, anywhere that there may be trouble. When the general public sees CCTV footage, the cameras have usually caught a crime being committed and the police are appealing for help in their solution, for some one to recognise the people on the tapes. The public are used to seeing shops being robbed or people entering a bank and waving guns around, anything to gain money. The grainy black and white stop footage gradually gave way to the more high-tech versions, colour screens and higher resolutions. In shops and banks it is rare for anyone to watch the tape until after a crime has been committed, when the videos will be watched painstakingly for clues as to the participants. On the other hand, there are those whose job it is to continue watching surveillance tapes. These are the people who work on military bases, for large shopping malls or in towns, the well-known trouble spots under constant scrutiny. For the most part this task is dull and repetitive, the watcher seeing people having fun, hanging out, going about their business in a normal, law-abiding fashion. Occasionally there is an incident, a fight outside a bar, a random mugging. In this case those watching from the cameras call the police and follow the event through technology. Some see it as a gross invasion of privacy, others as a modern necessity, but before the flu hit the population they were just another part of life.

After the flu hit, there were few cameras left. With no one well enough to run the power, there was no electricity for the cameras to run on. No one was watching the streets for the first time in a long time. The rooms where the watchers sat, removed from the action, were empty.

There were a few CCTV cameras still running, in places with their own generators. The generators took over when the electricity went out for good and no one thought about the cameras, either too sick or too scared to care. Most of the cameras remained, pointing out over deserted towns and buildings, blind.

The surveillance of the Xavier Institute was considered important by the late Professor and the cameras blinked in corners, motion detectors trailing the sole occupant of the building as she walked around the mansion in a daze, walking into rooms and pausing, leaving without really entering. They watched as she wandered into the rec room, blankly flipping the TV on and searching through the channels of static. As she gave herself over to sobs, lying on the couch and wailing, hooking her hands in her hair and covering her face with her arms. The cameras watched mutely as she came to a decision, rubbing a hand over her face and slowly dragging herself up the stairs.

The cameras were the only witnesses as she toiled, stepping into a room that was not covered by surveillance and exiting empty handed, something floating behind her wrapped in a blanket, something tall and heavy. The object followed her down the stairs and settled on the floor. She did the same thing twice more, every time the objects floating behind her, wrapped up.

In the garden, the cameras kept their vigil as she began digging, pausing occasionally to wipe at her sweaty forehead or her streaming eyes. For the first time she was shown on the cameras as tired, dirty and unkempt but there was no one watching what the cameras could see. She spent several hours digging, unseen by human eyes, throwing dirt aside until she was stood almost waist deep in a hole.

She went back inside and tiredly watched as one of the sheet-wrapped objects rose into the air, then led it out to the hole. It levitated slowly into the hole and she repeated the affair twice more before bowing her head silently for a few moments. Were the cameras able to pick up sound they might have heard her speak, but it wasn't likely. They were too far away.

After a while the girl jerked her head up and reached once again for the shovel, beginning the long task of filling in the hole she'd dug, this time with three bodies to make up some of the room.

More live cameras watched a SHIELD facility a long way from the Institute. There were few people within its walls, the screens in the monitoring rooms showing only the occasional person walking the halls, two men with red-rimmed eyes working in a laboratory. The monitoring room had only one occupant, watching one screen with a slight smile on his face. The scene that had caught his attention showed a man with a shock of thick black hair pacing the rooms, looking occasionally at the camera and growling. The man hadn't seen anyone else for almost two days and was getting restless.

The watcher saw a flash of silver from the mans hands and suddenly the camera showed nothing but static. The watcher nodded silently to himself. For the most part those employed to watch the footage never interacted with the people they monitor but these were exceptional circumstances. It was time that the watcher and the watched had a little talk.

Further west, the Hydra building had lost its power and after a brief lag in surveillance the cameras had gone back on line after the generators kicked in. The scene there hadn't changed. The litter of bodies that had covered the floors following a break out had been removed but there were still traces of the carnage that had occurred, blood that had yet to be cleaned away and probably never would. In the monitoring room, two guards watched the silent corridors with sightless eyes, one of them having fallen forward onto the screens, the other sliding off his chair some two days previously and left where he lay. There were no signs of life within those walls.

Cameras in cities across America, which had captured atrocities unimaginable when the population had been healthy, had gone blind. In a country that relied on its surveillance technology to trace its citizens, the survivors of the flu were scattered, isolated, with little hope of finding each other.

00000000000000000000000000

Lance had been walking for almost five hours, having abandoned his jeep that morning. There was no hope of him going anywhere, the highway totally grid locked, the traffic not having moved in over seven hours. A few minutes walk had told him why. Many of the vehicles had been abandoned and the ones that hadn't held only the dying and the dead. This was one jam that couldn't be solved by laying on the horn.

The sun had shone directly in his face all morning and now his eyes felt gritty and he had the start of a major headache. Bright sunshine always affected him in the same way. When he reached an off-ramp he decided to head into the town and see what he could find. As luck would have it, there was a pharmacist close to its limits, the window already shattered. There were several corpses inside and a few days ago Lance would have balked at the thought of going in – too much like a game of Resident Evil or similar – but he was becoming used to the sight of the dead. He didn't know if that was a good thing or not.

Aspirin seemed to be in short supply, as were cold remedies and bottled water. Lance had been trying to stick to the bottled stuff in case there was something in the taps that made people ill and it looked like he wasn't the only person who'd had the same idea. There were three litre bottles hidden under the counter and a further look around turned up a couple of packets of Ibuprofen. The seals on the water bottles were unbroken and although they were warm, they were still welcome. Forgetting about the bodies, Lance pulled the lid off a bottle and put two tablets in his mouth, taking a long swig of water to wash them down…

The noise in the shop caused him to spit water down his shirt. Instinctively, he ducked below the counter and tried to recall what he'd seen upon entry. Four bodies, one the pharmacist. The broken window had given him easy access and he wasn't a small man. Anyone could have followed him in while he was thinking about other things.

The noise hadn't been repeated, but that didn't make him feel any better. The area behind the counter was shaded, almost dark and against his will he found himself thinking back to the night he and Griff and Pete had spent playing Resident Evil when Pete got his new computer and discussing what they'd do if they were caught in the midst of an invasion. Suddenly the conversation didn't seem so funny.

The noise again. A quiet whimper, maybe a moan, definitely coming from with the shop. Lance did a quick inventory of the space beneath the counter; the water, a paperback book, an old newspaper, receipts, a cheap gas lighter, half a pack of cigarettes, an old chocolate bar wrapper, a can of deodorant –

_Bingo!_

Lance grabbed the lighter and the deodorant, pulled the cap off the can and cautiously stood up, one hand ready to spray the can, the other poised to snap the lighter on. If anything came after him they were going to get a faceful of flame.

Listening hard, he walked around the counter, trying to set his mind at ease. It might have been some small animal, one of the broken shelves squealing as the metal twisted, the door creaking as the minimal breeze caught it…

The sound had been too human to be any of those things. Lance crept further into the shop, trying to keep a wide space between himself and the bodies, which he had become half-convinced would at any moment stand up and try to eat his brains. The shop was permeated with a sickly-sweet smell of something gone bad and he had never been so aware of what was making that smell as he was at that moment. It was the smell of sickness and death, people forgotten and left to rot.

The noise came again and he froze, trying to pinpoint where it came from, his fingers itching to let loose his rudimentary weapon. Why hadn't he picked up a gun? It was _stupid_ not to have got a gun from somewhere before he worked out if he was one of the few left alive and any other survivors were hostile.

His eyes rested on something he hadn't noticed before, an overturned pram in the corner of the shop. He couldn't be sure, but he thought that was from where the sound had originated. He made his way over, trying to shut up his mind.

What if there's a dead baby in there? There has to be, what else would the pram be doing here? Oh God, what if it was a rat I heard and it's under there? What if it's eating the body? I don't want to see anything like that…

Moving the pram would mean relinquishing his grip on either the lighter or the aerosol. He transferred the deodorant into his left hand and with his right, grabbed the handle of the pram and yanked it away before he could change his mind.

The baby had spilled to the floor when the pram had been overturned, protected from broken bones it seemed by the heavy layers of blankets it had been wrapped in. There was no rat and Lance let out a shaky breath. A dead baby was pretty bad but not the worst thing he had thought of…

The baby opened its eyes.

"GAAAH!" Lance took two steps backward, stumbled over the outspread arm of a nearby corpse and half-fell into some shelving in the middle of the shop. The baby let out the piteous moan that he had heard before and Lance tried to still his heartbeat. Somehow this child hadn't died of the flu but he had no way of telling how long it had been there. It had to be thirsty.

The thought made Lance stand up properly and go behind the counter to retrieve one of the water bottles hidden there. He had no idea if this stuff was suitable for babies or even if babies could drink water – weren't they supposed to live off milk or something? – but it seemed cruel not to let the kid have a drink. It couldn't die of being given water instead of milk surely, but it would die if he didn't do something.

He snatched up a bottle of water and went back over to the baby, sitting cross-legged beside it and trying to balance its head upwards so he could get water into its mouth. He'd never even seen a child so small before and had no idea what he was supposed to do with it. He didn't dare pick it up. What if he broke it?

Seemingly encouraged by the moisture, the baby let out a choking sob, its face screwed up into a mass of wrinkles. The kid stank realised Lance, and it had to be hungry. He had no way of knowing how long it had been in here.

But…I don't know how to feed it or any of that stuff! I don't even know how to pick it up!

But he couldn't just abandon it either.

Carefully, holding his breath the whole time, Lance gathered up enough courage to pick up the child. Then he righted the pram and placed it in there. This was a pharmacy. There should be formula and there would be instructions on the formula. If he started with the basics, maybe he could find out the rest as he went along.

I so do not need this right now.

00000000000000000000000000

X23 sat in the joint of two study limbs high up in a tree, enjoying the fresh air against her face, the freedom of having nothing to do and no one to answer to. No hurry, no rules, no training. Just a teenage girl enjoying the moment.

Dr Risman had died the previous day. X23 had seen death up close and personal before but never from natural causes. She wondered if what had happened had been normal or if it was something to do with the disease the doctor had been trying to cure in the days before she went rogue and broke her greatest experiment out of Hydra. She'd taken Risman into the woods when she was too sick to drive any further. At the end she'd arched her back high, as if trying to touch her back with her head, then sank back down as she vomited blood. Her fingernails had scratched weakly on the floor and X23 could smell the death on her. Rather than leave the woman in pain, X23 had done the last thing that she could for the woman who had given her life and freedom and ended her suffering. She doubted that her actions had cut short life by more than half an hour.

Risman had talked none-stop until the sickness had rendered her unable to make sense. She had told X23 of her origins, the man known only as Weapon X she had been cloned from, the reasons behind twenty-two other failed attempts, the reason Hydra wanted her to succeed so badly. With some one like Weapon X in their corner they would have a soldier in their employ that was virtually unstoppable. The original Weapon X was hard to track down and the clone had the added advantage of being easier to control, having been trained since birth to listen to Hydra and tutored to follow their orders.

X23 couldn't bring herself to believe that had she remained in Hydra until she was considered able to go on a solo mission she would have accepted things as they were. She liked to think that she too would have acted as Risman had and broken free of Hydra control. But nothing was certain.

She had left Risman where she had died – she had no concept of burying the dead, it had never been considered a necessary fact that she needed to learn – and headed off into the woods, finding a place where she could turn over events in her mind. For the first time in her life there was no pressure. She was alone, true, but there was too much to wonder at to feel as isolated as she had in the complex. The trees and the sky looked startlingly colourful against the memory of the white featureless room where most of her solitary time had been spent. Being outside alone was a sensory overload. She felt giddy with the promise that the outdoors seemed to promise her.

She had no plans for the future aside from not being captured if Hydra had sent agents out after her. There was no direction for her to go in, no reason for her to move from the spot until she felt hungry or restless. For the first time she had unconditional freedom and she loved every minute of it.

00000000000000000000000000

Remy pitied the people who had chosen to attempt to escape their homes by car. There were vehicles as far as the eye could see, packed bumper to bumper, the moveable possessions of the family tied to the roof and shoved into backseats. He had to wonder about the need to do such a thing. Why take the time to pack up mere possessions when they could just up and leave? He'd never attached much worth to material objects unless it was something he'd stolen and was bartering a price for either the object or his services as a thief. He had been able to jump onto his motorbike and leave, cash in his pocket and a couple of changes of clothes on the bike. Why bother to take the TV when life was at stake?

There was no room for a car to manoeuvre but that was no problem for Remy on his motorbike. He was able to weave in and out of the traffic, pulling off the roads altogether when the roads became too impassable. He was forced to keep the speed low and that annoyed him. The bike wasn't built for cruising, it was built for speed. He should be tearing down the highway. That was how he always imagined leaving New Orleans.

He was in Mississippi when he finally got tired of dodging the cars, mostly abandoned but a few with bodies, their faces caked in blood from the final extremities of the disease that took their lives. Flies feasted on a few of these and Remy always kept his face averted. He wasn't squeamish but there was a lack of dignity that made him feel simultaneously disgusted and sad.

He passed a sign, desperately in need of a paint job.

_Caldecott County _

_Speed Limit 30mph _

_Welcome!_

The whole town was as eerily quiet as everywhere else he'd been through that day and he decided this backwater place had about as much life as he'd seen on the highway. Still, he needed a few supplies and it was doubtful this place had been as ransacked as New Orleans had been. He was tired of stopping for cold tins of food and had no desire to find a place to stay indoors. He doubted that there were many buildings free from corpses and had no urge to check just because he needed to sleep a while. His plan was to find some kind of sporting goods shop and grab a camping stove and a sleeping bag, the weather was warm enough to stay outdoors and at least he could eat something warm. Then he could be out of here and on his way –

Where?

He didn't know.

There was no real plan in action. He had hoped that the severe cases of the flu were combined to the South and if he headed far enough North then he might find other survivors, maybe whole towns that had gotten a cure when New Orleans had not. He would settle down there and forget the whole nightmare had ever happened. But to forget he had to get away.

He stopped the bike at a crossroads and tried to work out what direction Caldecott County's shops were in. He would get what he needed, maybe find a place to crash for a few hours and be on his way again soon. It would be as if he were never there.

00000000000000000000000000

The door slid open and Logan turned quickly, noting Trask coming into the room. There was something about Trask he didn't like at all. The man seemed way too pleased with what was going on with this disease. It was as if he were glad that people were dying and all of a sudden he was part of something important.

"Logan." Trask kept his voice pleasant as he closed the door behind him. "How are you feeling today?"

"I want out."

"I see." Trask had been expecting this for a while, ever since he realised what kind of man – or rather mutant – he was dealing with. "We still need you to help us with…"

"I've helped. I've had it here bub. I'm going."

"Of course. You're not a prisoner here after all." The truth was that Trask knew if it came down to it, Logan wouldn't hesitate to go through him to get to the door.

Logan walked past Trask and put a hand on the door. "I want some _information_."

_Damn! _"What is it you want to know?"

"Did you ever find a cure for the flu?"

"We're still working on it. That's why we could do with your co-operation."

"I haven't been able to get a TV channel for two days."

"There are a lot of networks off the air at the moment. This flu, it's affected a lot of people and if we don't find a cure soon…"

Logan paused, trying to reconcile his will to help with his distrust of Trask. "So why haven't you isolated what's causing the virus yet?"

"It has some characteristics in common with the AIDS virus, attacks the immune system, but on top of that it also carries its own illness. It shifts its biological construction so that when we have the solution to one strain, it resurfaces as another."

Logan growled. His heightened senses were able to detect nothing that he usually associated with lying but that didn't mean that there wasn't something being kept from him. If he asked the right questions he might get further but he couldn't think what the right questions might be.

"I'm gone," he said, pulling the door open. "Got to make sure some old friends are alright. I might be back." It was supposed to be a concession to SHIELD, letting them know that he still wanted to help out, but it sounded more like a threat.

Trask made no offer to show him out and Logan didn't wait for help. Instead he relied on his memory and his heightened senses to guise him through the building until he got to the main door. There was an electronic lock on the door and rather than wait for some one to come along and show him the combination, he popped his claws and trashed the lock. A few sparks later, the door swung easily open.

Outside, Logan wondered where his motorcycle was. It should be in a garage somewhere on the facility but whereabouts was anyone's guess. He sniffed the air experimentally, planning to find the place where there was the most fuel stored and presumably where the vehicles were kept. Instead there was something else in the air. A rank scent, sickly-sweet…and familiar. It was the scent of decomposing bodies. For him to be smelling it from here meant that either there were a lot of corpses left in the SHIELD headquarters without being taken to the morgue or else there were people in the nearest residential area who had been. Neither idea was palatable.

It occurred to Logan just how _weird_ it was that he had been able to walk out of the SHIELD headquarters without running into a single soldier. Not one person had been in the corridors; there was no one outside to challenge him. This was a top-secret Government facility so where was security?

Something is seriously wrong… 

Making up his mind, Logan decided to find his bike and get the hell out of there. He had known the situation was serious but ever since Fury had gone AWOL there had been no information forthcoming. He had never imagined that things could go this far. There was no one around and he could smell death. He was gripped with the need to find his friends.

As long as he could remember, Logan had been a loner, happier in his own company, not wanting the hassle or the responsibility of caring about people. The one thing that they had in common was that they all let you down in the end. Yet in spite of this he had met people that overlooked his aggressive behaviour and surly demeanour and believed they saw something better in him. One of them had been Nick Fury, currently missing and no doubt sealed away somewhere deep within the SHIELD facility. There were others in Canada, still others in Japan. But they were people who always had others around them, people able to take care of themselves.

A long time ago he had encountered Professor Charles Xavier. The man honestly believed that there was good in every person and that given time, the public would grow to accept those amongst them who were different. Logan had his doubts but he had to give the Professor grudging admiration. There were few people as dedicated as the Professor and rarely to a mission of peace. Xavier was the most powerful telepath on the face of the planet and refused to use that power to bend others to his way of thinking no matter how righteous his cause. He really _believed_ in his dream. Logan sometimes thought of the Professor as a hopeless dreamer, sometimes as a well-meaning optimist. When Xavier had told Logan he was planning to have students begin to live in the building, his initial reaction had been doubt. He had two students in mind, Jean Grey who he'd been working with for years although she always stayed at home and the Professor went to her, and a boy named Scott Summers, an orphan who had been fostered to a man who seemingly wanted the boy to use his powers for crime. With Storm already at the Institute Logan saw no need for the three of them to be in charge of two kids and excused himself from the project, citing the need for time alone. The Professor had been maddeningly understanding, telling him to return whenever he liked.

Logan was concerned about what was happening in Bayville. If the Professor had taken in more students, they might be ill. Maybe even Storm was ill. Logan never considered that the Professor could be ill – the man was just too damn serene for something as mundane as germs to bring him down – but he would need help. Plus the Institution had the ear of many influential scientists and maybe they could succeed using his healing factor where SHIELD had failed. And all of that was mere justification. He had a desperate urge to get to Bayville and make sure everything was OK.

Mind made up, Logan went of in search of his bike.

00000000000000000000000000

Rogue sat up in bed, the last vestiges of her dream remaining in her head. She had buried Irene herself, carrying the woman into the garden and digging the grave. The act had exhausted her and just when she had expected to spend many nights awake she fell into a sleep. Deep but not dreamless.

She rubbed her eyes and gazed into the early evening gloom. She still couldn't get used to the fact that she could see in spite of the fact that she had always been able to. It was as if she had taken in Irene's spirit and now she felt as one with the dead woman. It had to be something to do with their relationship and the fact that she had been at the woman's side at her death. Rogue had never believed in that kind of stuff but could think of no other explanation for the phenomena. She refused to entertain for a moment that she and her adoptive mother could be mutants, which was what her mind was trying to tell her.

Her dream came back to her. She had seen a man on a motorcycle heading into Caldecott County. She knew he was important but she had no idea how. He paused at the crossroads and then headed toward Main Street, looking for a shop. She didn't know how she knew this stuff, the same as she couldn't explain the urgency that gripped her. She felt like she had to go and see for herself that this man existed. She even knew where she'd find him. The sporting goods shop.

This is ridiculous. You're hysterical.

She lay back in her bed, determined not to give credence to what she had dreamed. It was too much; the whole country going down with some unexplained disease and her mother dying…she was on edge. It was understandable but she had to get on top of this irrational urge to prove her dreams were real.

For almost two minutes she fought the urge, then gave up, dragging on the clothes she had discarded the previous evening and going outside. There was only one way to prove to herself that she was imagining things. Go out there and see there was no man in the sporting goods shop. Especially not one with unruly dark hair and red-on-black eyes. The whole thing was out of some good girls dream of what a bad boy should look like. There was no one like that left in the world. No one left alive except for her.

She wondered what she had done to deserve being left alone in the world.


	10. Bayville

Thanks to:

Minnaloushe – I knew I had heard your name before and I read Elliot's book many years ago, so I didn't get it straight off. I've just checked out your story and although I'm only up to chapter two I do really like it and plan to catch up with the rest shortly (I have to pay for my internet by the minute or else I'd be up on it now!) As to the kid, mutation doesn't usually show up 'til puberty so it might be a bit of a wait to find out! Although I think Jamie was an exception. And probably Kurt! I'm hoping to do some Romy but I've never done anything like that directly, when I have done it it's been a background thing. Kinda looking forward to the possibilities (although he's not gonna go blind – that was just truly bizarre).

Furygrrl – One of the problems I had with this fic was thinking there were too many people in each chapter, glad to know it works out OK. I was walking past a CCTV camera when I had the idea for the chapter lead in although I wasn't sure whether or not to use it – the whole language thing had me a little concerned. But then I thought what the hell! And a big thank you – I hadn't even considered the mansion being a looters paradise until you pointed it out and I used the idea in this chapter. Not to mention that all the RE nods were as a result of the Genesis Strain. When I started working at the job I have now I went down to the cellar and it is SO straight out of RE I expect zombies to burst out of the walls – not that I can complain, seeing as how most of my evo over 18 fics are written down there ;) Trust me, you haven't seen the last of Trask, he's gonna play a big part in later chapters. I'm kinda looking forward to doing the Romy, since I've never done it before, but it ain't gonna be the focus.

LadyEvils – I thought that Lance would actually be quite good daddy! Mystique is back here and there is a cameo for Pietro and Wanda although they're just checking in. And Magneto will show up at some point…

Southern Goth Gal – Rogue and Gambit meeting – here! And 5 reviews is pretty good, when I wrote the Cure I had three or less for each chapter, it's only since then it's got any attention. Keep it up!

Todd Fan – Hope this lives up to your Romy expectations!

Sangofanatic – There was no reason for me picking who lived and who died except that I wanted to concentrate on certain people so if they weren't part of the fic – they died!

Flamekiller – Hope this lives up to your expectations!

Telepathic Angel – It is sad that they all have to bury their loved ones but things will get better for everyone. And then worse.

TheDreamerLady – If we need weird hair to live through the flu then I'm fine! Baby's genre revealed here. And you guessed a lot of stuff right!

UncannyAsianGirl – This chapter would have been up three hours ago if not for you! I was just checking my mails when I got your review and decided to check your vid before I updated. Damn good vid by the way! I would never have thought there was so much motorcycle stuff in evo. I've recommended it in my author notes. Anyway! I checked my own version of the chapter and there was no problem but when I checked fanfic there was, so grateful for you pointing that out, otherwise I might never have noticed. You are the precog! You seem to know what I'm about to write…but that's cool. Yeah, the RE nod was to Furygrrl, she writes the best stuff! On a similar note, I checked out Minnaloushes fic and it was damn good, although I've only got the first two chapters yet. I checked it out while I downloaded your vid! X23 is gonna be plunged back into the fic but for now I like her just enjoying life. I know in her position that's what I'd do. And let me know how you thought of Rogue/Remy, I'm not sure how they came off.

**Author note: **I'm glad everyone liked Lance finding the baby! It was kind of a weird direction to head in but I figured I could do a lot with it. I wasn't sure if anyone would think it was a good idea but I'm pleased that it was. This is my first attempt at overt Romy so let me know if it worked or not. Oh, and if you want a cool music vid, check out UncannyAsianGirl's website (go to my reviews, click on her name and find it in her biog page). Motorcycle madness indeed! I loved this vid and I guarantee you will too.

00000000000000000000000000

Logan roared into Bayville late in the evening and headed straight to the Xavier Institute. The streets were in total darkness, the light from his motorcycle the only thing to see by. There was no one around.

Almost no one. As he approached the Institute he decided to kill the engine and scout around, make sure there was no trouble. There seemed to be no one there but he could smell at least three people in the vicinity, none of them apparently ill. A part of him was pleased – he had seen no signs of life since leaving the SHIELD facility – but mostly he was wary. He closed in stealthily and soon his enhanced hearing picked up their voices.

"There's probably loads of cool stuff in there," said the first voice. A man in his thirties perhaps.

"What's the point?" A teenage girl, sounding bored. "There's no power. No matter what they have, we can't _use_ any of it."

"You silly bitch." A third girl. "Can't you see the lights on in there?"

"Yeah, so? Probably a candle."

"No, it's electricity. Which means they have power, which means they can watch DVDs and stuff. We can just go in there and use it all!"

"Yeah," said the first girl, sounding doubtful now. "But what if there's some one left alive in there?"

"Unlikely. We're the only people in Bayville still alive!"

"Besides, they'll clear out even if they are alive." The man again, his voice a strange combination of grim and gleeful. "We've got enough firepower here to waste anyone who gets in our way!"

Logan had heard enough. He leapt at the three, who couldn't see him in the darkness. He could just about make out their silhouettes thanks to his enhanced senses but all they knew was that some one had jumped them, some one who was roaring in anger.

"Where's the fucking gun?" The man shouted as Logan's hand connected with one of the girls stomachs, her breath whooshing out of her.

"What's going on?" The second girl was screaming and Logan couldn't bring himself to hurt her even though she'd been planning to break into the mansion and prepared to shoot anyone living there. Instead he grabbed her neck and applied a nerve grip that rendered her instantly but temporarily unconscious.

_BLAM!_

The man got lucky, or unlucky depending on how you looked at it, and hit Logan in the shoulder with a bullet. Logan snarled, the pain sharp for a second then going numb as his healing factor began to take care of it. He popped his claws and sliced the weapon in half, leaving the man to wonder why his gun was suddenly light and useless.

Logan picked him up by his collar. "Get away from here. Far away."

"Uhhh…" The man dropped the remnants of the gun and cringed in Logan's grip.

"And don't come sniffing around the Institute again!" Logan dropped him and watched him scramble to his feet and run away, no thought to the two girls he'd left behind.

"Asshole." Logan scaled the gates easily and realised he could see a light on in the mansion, from downstairs in what he remembered as being the rec room. Heartened, he hurried up to the mansion and walked through the doors. The security system hadn't been turned back on when the power switched to the generator. That was sloppy of the Professor and Logan reminded himself to tell Charles that there were people out there now who didn't care about the law. Hell, these days there was no law.

He set the system himself, trying not to think that the Professor should have sensed him coming by now and would be here to greet him. Maybe there was a good explanation for that aside from the obvious…

"Get out!"

Logan turned, startled. A redheaded girl of maybe eighteen stood at the far end of the corridor, fists clenched. She was tall and startlingly attractive but Logan could smell the fear on her and knew if he didn't explain himself fast he could be in trouble. This was after all a school for mutants.

"Wait!" He held his hands up placatingly. He wasn't afraid of the redhead but he didn't want to start fighting her either, not when they were on the same side. "I'm a friend of Professor Xavier's. My name's Logan."

"Logan?" The girls voice was tremulous and Logan realised she'd heard his name before.

"Yeah. Me and Chuck go way back." A memory came back to him of one of the Professor's conversations with him. "Are you Jean Grey?"

"Uh…yeah." The girl's aggressive stance relaxed and Logan cautiously walked toward her. She looked exhausted, too young for the troubles she had no doubt been through since the flu had hit.

"So, where is the Professor?" asked Logan casually, afraid that he already knew the answer. Jean was too much on edge for her to have anyone around to calm her down.

"He…he died." Jean's voice was barely a whisper. "He died and I had to look after Storm and she kept screwing with the weather and then she died and Scott wouldn't get better and then he died and…and…"

"Hey kid…" Logan didn't know how to finish. He wanted to tell her it would be OK but that would be a lie and he already knew that Jean wasn't the kind of girl you could easily lie to. Instead he put an arm around her and after a brief hesitation she threw both her arms around him and began to sob.

"I don't know where my parents are!" She tried to catch her breath and buried her face in Logan's shirt. "They were on holiday and I can't get in touch with them and I tried to call my sister and she didn't answer the phone and now they don't work…"

Logan let her wear herself out crying before she straightened up and wiped her eyes, giving him a watery smile.

"I'm sorry Mr Logan," she said. "I'm not usually so hysterical."

"You've good reason to be upset," said Logan. "How long have you been here on your own?"

"Three days," said Jean, her voice hitching. "I buried them all in the garden…I couldn't call anyone and I didn't know what else to do…"

"You did the right thing." Logan kept his voice soothing, trying to suppress his own emotions. Charles Xavier dead. He would never have thought it. Charles had been a good man and a good friend. And Ororo, serene and beautiful, falling victim to some stupid virus. The boy, Scott, he had never met but he could still feel pity for a boy at the brink of adulthood, his life stolen from him before he had the chance to truly live. "Jean, you're a mutant aren't you?"

"Yeah."

"What are your powers?"

"I'm a telepath and I'm telekinetic too."

"Right." Logan came to a decision. "Now listen. I want you to go upstairs and get some sleep."

"But…"

"No arguments. You look like you haven't slept in days. I'm going to check the mansion security, make sure everything's OK. Oh, and don't use more light than you have to. You're attracting attention."

"What do you…" Jean realised what he was saying and paled. "Oh. I won't."

"If you want anything, use that telepathy to contact me."

"Do you mind me asking…what are _your_ powers?"

"Healing factor." Logan didn't want to reveal too much at once. The girl was obviously already overwrought.

"Did you know you're bleeding?"

Logan glanced at the shoulder he took a bullet in a few minutes before. The healing factor had taken care of it so he had almost forgotten it was there. "Not anymore darlin. It's healed up."

"Oh." Jean was at a loss for words. Instead she decided to take Logan's advice and go up to bed. She had barely slept since the others had got sick and after they had died she hadn't been able to close her eyes without seeing the death spasms of the people she was supposed to be taking care of. Her thought process had become slow and clouded or else she might have checked Logan out mentally before allowing him in. Instead she headed for the stairs, the climb seeming almost beyond her, She went into her room, struggled out of her clothes and fell onto the bed, asleep as soon as she lay down.

Logan went around the mansion, checking the defences. They wouldn't keep out anyone really determined but for the time being they would have to do. He went upstairs and tracked Jean through her scent, standing outside her room for long enough to determine that she was sleeping deeply. Then he went into the garden to pay his last respects.

The fresh grave in the ground was wide enough for the three people buried there and Logan could only imagine the tremendous force of will that had made the tired, scared teenage girl dig the hole and bury her mentors and friends. The ground still showed the signs of the recent excavation but Jean had also planted some rudimentary markers, no doubt planning to replace them when she had the heart. For a few minutes he stood by the grave, his head bowed, the wind blowing his hair into further disarray than several hours on the bike without a helmet had done. Then he frowned, sniffing the air. Something around here smelled familiar, but when he looked up he saw only an owl perched on the ground nearby, looking at him.

"Give it up Mystique. I know it's you."

The owl morphed into the shape of a blue skinned woman, looking unusually sombre. "Haven't seen you around for a while Logan."

"Why did you come here?"

"I need…" Mystique sighed and pushed her hair away from her face, a gesture that struck Logan as surprisingly vulnerable for a terrorist. "I need help."

"Help." Logan would have laughed if the whole scenario hadn't been so surreal. "Why? No one left for you to manipulate?"

"You never change Logan." Mystique walked past him, toward the mansion. "I need to talk to Xavier."

"Go ahead," said Logan. "He's right here."

Mystique glanced down at the grave. "You're not serious."

"I wish I wasn't."

"No!" Mystique gazed at the ground, her expression caught between anger and despair. "He can't be dead _now_, not when…"

"You've been wishing him dead for years, you and Magneto both."

Mystique glared at Logan. "We never wished him dead! Especially not Magneto. We just wanted him to see our point of view!"

"That mutants are superior to humans."

Mystique looked ready to fire back a reply, then her body sagged. "Do we have to go through this argument again? It doesn't matter now."

"No, it doesn't." Logan took a cigar from his pocket and lit it, using the silence to gather his thoughts. "So, why do you need his help?"

"Magneto knew that Xavier was gathering a team of mutants to fight for his dream. He stole the idea, thought he could gather mutants to fight for his dream too, a dream of mutant superiority."

Logan puffed on his cigar, not answering.

"I was placed in charge of the team, but we only recruited one mutant before…well, before everyone got sick. His name is Todd. He's not got the flu. I don't know what to do with him."

"You could try looking after him."

"Dammit Logan! I have been looking after him! But he's a teenage boy, he needs people around him, hope for the future…"

"Since when have you been the maternal type?"

"Fuck you Logan." Raven walked away from the mansion, ready to turn into a bird and fly away again. Logan rolled his eyes, hurried over to her and caught her by the shoulder.

"Look Mystique. There aren't that many people left out there. You want to bring this kid over?"

Mystique looked doubtfully at the mansion. "Is there anyone still alive here?"

"Jean Grey."

"I know her. Little Miss Soccer Star. What about Scott? At least he's not so cliquey."

"He's dead. So's Storm."

"Shit." Mystique turned away from Logan and wandered further into the garden, wrapping her arms around herself. She looked up at the sky, composing herself for a few minutes. Logan finished his cigar, watching her. He had known Mystique for decades, since before mutants were common knowledge and they were pretty unique, and he had never seen her so unashamedly, uncalculatedly upset.

Eventually she turned back to Logan. "So, Jean's alive. About Todd…"

"Where is he now?"

"Asleep, back at the Brotherhood house. That's where we live."

"When he wakes up, bring him over here. Might as well start pooling our resources. One thing Raven. If you try in any way to double-cross us, I _will_ take you out."

"I know." Mystique morphed into an owl and flew away, leaving Logan wondering what the hell he'd let himself in for.

00000000000000000000000000

Lance sat in the public library, the book open in front of him. It had taken some time to break in, the doors a lot more solid than most of the shops, but in the end he had avalanched it open. It was the only place he could think of that could teach him how to take care of a child he had no idea how to look after.

"Right." Lance furrowed his brow. He had already worked out how to change the kid and the perils of having the Pampers being too large. Pretty gross but it washed off. Then he'd fed the kid again. He figured it was somewhere between one and five months old; it couldn't sit up and it was small and helpless. He'd managed to figure out that the kid was male – it was obvious when he changed the nappy – but apart from that he knew nothing about the child. Not his name, not his parents, nothing. And now the kid was screaming, sounding in pain. He didn't know what was wrong. Was it the water he'd given him when he found him?

He found the section marked 'Crying' and turned to it. There were a lot of reasons the kid might be crying. Trying to ignore the screams, he read through as quickly as possible.

Sighing, he rocked the kid as he read the first section. Was it dirty? No. Was it hungry? No. Was it gassy? What the hell did that mean?

Lance read out loud to focus his mind away from the yells. "After a feed, a child retains some gas. This is the air taken in whilst drinking milk. It can be painful and a child should always be burped after a feed. Burping a child is simple. Either place the child over your shoulder or on your knee and rub its back. The child should eventually let out some burps which release the gas and ease the pain…"

He didn't need to hear anything else. After all he had read about supporting a child's head, he decided to put the kid over his shoulder and rub its back. For a few seconds he quieted and then let out a tremendous –

_BWERP!_

A stream of milky puke cascaded over Lance's shoulder. With a cry of disgust he restrained himself from thrusting the kid away from him, letting the vomit soak into his shirt and making sure the kid was done before he settled it into the Moses basket he had swiped from a shop at the same time as getting the kid some new clothes.

"You could have warned me," he grumbled, yanking his shirt off. "Now I need a shower and you tell me where I can find some hot water?"

The kid cooed, happy.

"Easy for you to say." Lance sighed as he realised he was going to have to break in somewhere else for something to wear. "You'd better not do that every time."

The baby showed its gums to Lance and he decided to interpret that as a smile.

"You're going to the first girl I find," he said with casual chauvinism. "And I can't keep calling you kid. You need a name. What's your name?"

The baby farted loudly and closed its eyes.

"I suppose I could call you Lance Junior – no, that's not fair. How about Dominic? No, you don't look like a Dominic. Maybe, uh…oh I don't know. How do people choose kids names anyway?"

The baby, fast asleep, didn't answer.

00000000000000000000000000

Pietro walked beside his sister, quelling the urge to run. She seemed content to go slowly, drinking in all the sights that passed them by. Pietro kept thinking that she was still in hospital issue clothes and if anyone saw them she would be back in the asylum before they could argue. He knew there were few people around now and that no one would care if Wanda was free, but he couldn't stop worrying.

"It's better than I remembered." Wanda turned 360 in the middle of the road. "All the stuff that don't think about when you're in the world. I missed it so much!"

Pietro gave her a look. "You missed trees and tarmac?"

"You try living without them." Wanda knelt and felt the ground beneath her. "You try spending half your life without fresh air and scenery and change. Then you'll know. This is _life_. This is what it's all about. Just to be free to take in what's going on outside."

"Whatever." Pietro fought the itch to put on speed. "Aren't you sorry your friend didn't come with us?"

"Lisa? No." Wanda finally began paying attention to her brother. "She has to do what she has to do. Do you know she's been in there since she was eight?"

"Eight?" Pietro tried to imagine it and couldn't. "What for?"

"Severe emotional problems, same as me."

"How do you know?"

"She told me, at night when no one was listening." Wanda reached out and grabbed her brother's hand. "Does it matter? I want to forget. I don't want to remember anything that happened to me there until the moment I look our father in the eye and tell him why I'm killing him."

Pietro thought she was joking until she looked into her eyes and realised she was one hundred percent serious.

"So, where are we going?" asked Wanda.

"Uh, I dunno," admitted Pietro. "I didn't make any plans from here. Where do you want to go?"

"I dunno." Wanda scowled. "Does it matter? Let's just…walk. We can figure out where we're going later."

"Yeah." Pietro squeezed her hand and just enjoyed the moment.

00000000000000000000000000

Rogue found the main street of Caldecott County eerie. Quiet at the best of times, now it was deserted. Nothing moved. She cursed herself again for not just staying at home, driven out by an urge she didn't understand.

_Just see for yourself that there's no one else here and go home._

The sporting goods shop loomed ahead of her, no lights apparent. The door was smashed open but that wasn't unusual. A few of the shops she had passed were similarly busted open. She pushed the door open, glancing around the shop and not seeing anyone. She sighed. Whatever had got into her, she had been proved wrong. There was no one here…

"_Bonjoir_,"

"GAH!" Rogue took a few steps back and almost tripped over her own feet. She got control of herself and looked up at the man who seemed to come out of nowhere. He was tall, dark haired and his eyes were…

_Red on black…_

"I knew you'd be here," she blurted out.

Remy raised an eyebrow. "_Oui_? How?"

"I…don't know." Rogue couldn't stop staring at him. How had she known that he was going to be there? Was she psychic or something? She had been telling herself that she was losing her mind, thinking that there was some man hanging around the sporting goods shop and yet here he was.

Remy laughed. "The first person Remy sees for days and she's insane."

"I'm not insane," said Rogue indignantly. "I'm just confused. I thought you were just in my head."

Remy had no idea what she was talking about but she was a real, living person after so much death and confusion. Even if she was insane, he couldn't let her walk away. Just a few days alone showed him that he needed to have people around.

"So…Remy found a cooker." He held it out for her to look at. "Want to have dinner?"

Rogue began to laugh. "How could ah resist?"


	11. Getting To Know You

Thanks to:

XME – Thank you!

Sangofanatic – Not as soon as I would have liked but I hope it was worth the wait!

LadyEvils – I haven't actually decided if there will be any Jean/ Logan and if there is it won't be anytime soon…I live for slow build-ups! And although romance may not be the first thing on people's minds, some one's got to repopulate the world ;) Lance without a shirt – I just had to have that in there (not that I'm a perv – OK, I am!). I don't think that anyone would automatically know how to deal with a kid, even a mother, so I thought he'd need some help there. Although he would make one of the better daddy-figures.

Todd Fan – Oh yeah, I got plenty in store for Wanda!

Ishandahalf – Not as fast as a bunny on crack – more a bunny on pot! I wanted to look at characters I don't often look at as well as the ones I use a lot – I thought that the difference in how some one like Jean would react would be different to some one like X23 and I didn't want everyone to be tortured. Just most of 'em ;) The sickness has pretty much run its course now but there will be more troubles in the not-so-brave new world!

Southern Goth Gal – That exciting huh? Glad all your fave characters made you happy sis!

Minnalouche – I will get to the rest of your excellent story this week – I've been temporarily injured and haven't been able to see properly all week (I only have the use of one eye at the moment). Sabretooth as a cub? Bet he was a cute l'il bundle of fluff…OK, maybe not! I really couldn't think of a name for a baby, but I think I might stick with Dominic – or Kid. And Remy and Rogue having dinner was totally random, I don't know where that came from!

TheDreamerLady – If the link between survivors is bizarre hair then we can expect Ray to turn up later on! Hope this chappy is as good as the last one!

Ciardra – Glad you're enjoying it so far! Grammar actually tends to be a problem of mine but feel free to point out any errors you spot – I've no problem changing stuff to improve the fic.

Rogue14 – I'm sorry I haven't reviewed 'Revenge' yet! I've lost the use of one of my eyes and it gives me a headache to read the computer. Not too bad to write because I don't have to look at the screen…but now I'm used to my temporary Cyclops-ness, I hope to get to it! Rogue and Gambit are safe from the disease but I'm not promising anything else, hahaha!

Furygrrl – There's gonna be more evildoers throughout the fic (not everyone who survived is a good guy lol). I didn't want Lance to have an easy time with the kid, although the bonding thing happened automatically, I hadn't planned it. Logan and Raven seem to work well together, I've put them talking here again. I've got plans for Magneto too! And Rogue's newfound precognition is going to come into play more and more over the following chapters. Trust me, I'd trade my creepy basement for a nice cushy study – I'm supposed to be working down there!

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Todd looked gloomily up at the mansion. Mystique had ordered him to come here, pool their resources. Apparently, there were mutants still alive. He knew Jean Grey vaguely – not that he'd ever spoken to her. She didn't hang around in the same crowd as he did and she probably didn't even know his name. But it would be nice to speak to some one who wasn't Mystique. The woman had been on edge ever since people began getting sick and he had no idea why. And the building was huge, much better than the Brotherhood house. Maybe he could have a bigger room.

"Hurry up!" Mystique strode past him up the drive and Todd followed timidly. He wasn't comfortable with unknown quantities. He liked the world to be familiar, even if his place in that world was lowly. And there was no greater unknown quantity than being thrust into a mansion devoid of all but a few students – he wasn't sure how many – and expected to get along with them. Failing that, he could go out into the world of the dead and see how well he got along then.

Jean woke up slowly, luxuriating in the feel of soft sheets and no particular place to go. For a few blissful moments it was like any other day, like she could expect Scott to start hammering at her door and telling her to stop doing 'girl things' so they would get to school on time…

Then she remembered that Scott was dead and a wave of guilt crashed down on her. How had she been able to sleep so well, so peacefully, when everyone in the mansion was buried in the garden? When she had no idea as to the whereabouts or well being of her parents or her sister? True she'd grabbed scarcely a couple of troubled hours rest since Scott had first sickened, but she should have been dreaming about it surely. She shouldn't have let them leave her mind for even a moment, because the first step to people being truly dead was when those left behind forgot to remember.

She got out of bed, feeling an awful lot less drained than she had just the day before and got into the shower, the water thankfully hot due to the generator. The shower woke her up even more and she realised she was actually hungry. In spite of the voice in her head telling her she had no reason to be happy when the others were dead, she felt good. Refreshed, confident, glad to be alive. Feeling those things might be wrong under the circumstances but it didn't change the facts.

As she pulled on jeans and a shirt, she mentally searched the mansion and found there were three other people in the house. Slightly worried, she frowned. She recognised Logan's brain patterns from the previous day – she had been half-afraid that he had been a figment of her overworked imagination – but the other two were unfamiliar although not unknown. A part of her wondered if Logan was such a good guy after all or if he was part of some conspiracy to round up survivors for some reason. Then she mentally shook herself. If there were other people in the mansion, all it meant was that Logan had found some other survivors. She should be grateful, not suspicious.

Making her way downstairs, she could smell something cooking and her stomach growled in response. Quelling the notion that if she read their minds she would know what to expect, she walked into the kitchen. She was unprepared for the sight that greeted her.

A skinny kid she thought she might have seen around Bayville High sat at the table, eating like he hadn't seen food in a week. Logan chewed thoughtfully on a piece of bacon, glaring into the distance. But most surprising was the woman drinking a glass of orange juice. Her skin was blue.

"Good morning Jean," said Logan, snapping himself out of his musings. "Feel OK?"

"Well – yeah."

Logan smiled a little. "This is Todd – you two might know each other from school."

"Hey," said Todd, not bothering to look up as he attacked a pile of sausages.

"And this is Raven."

"We've met," said Raven.

"Uh, I don't think so," said Jean, at the same time thinking that she'd heard that voice before. "I'm sure I'd remember you."

Logan snorted. "Doubtful."

Jean ignored the comment and grabbed a plate, piling it high with food before Todd could eat it all. She had been planning to sit next to Todd, maybe get to know him a little better – he was about her age and could probably use a friend rather than the authority figure that Raven seemed to be – then she got close enough to smell him and wrinkled her nose. Quickly, she moved around to the far end of the table, near Logan. Hadn't Logan said that he had heightened senses? Todd's odour had to be driving him mad.

As if in response to her thought, Logan turned his attention to Todd. "Grab yourself a room anywhere you like – there's enough of them. And there's, uh, hot water if you wanna take a shower."

"No thanks, I'm good for another few weeks," said Todd casually.

"That wasn't a suggestion _bub_."

Todd widened his eyes, his sudden fear almost palpable. "Yeah, sure, shower, I'll do that now."

Jean watched him scuttle out of the room, feeling sympathetic. Whatever the boy's life had been like before he came to the mansion, he certainly had an irrational fear of authority.

Neither Raven or Logan seemed to notice and Jean continued with her breakfast, the good feeling beginning to wane. Both the Professor and Storm would have gone out of their way to make Todd feel welcome but these two didn't seem the nurturing type. She only hoped any other survivors were slightly more receptive to other people's feelings.

"Kid's a little uptight, isn't he Raven?" Logan returned to the subject several minutes after Jean thought they had forgotten all about it. "You the reason for that?"

"I took him in from a home," said Raven testily. "I treated him well enough."

"Right. You did that from the goodness of your heart, not because the kid was a mutant."

Raven sighed. "I told you about this last night."

There was more silence. Jean kept her head down, looking at the adults cautiously. There was some prior relationship between the two but it seemed fraught with animosity. She wanted to know more but it didn't seem the time to ask. And there was something about Raven she distrusted.

"If the generator's still working, is Cerebro?" Raven spoke abruptly, the question obviously having played on her mind for a while.

Logan seemed startled. "No reason why it shouldn't be, the system still has the rest of the mansion online. But it might just be performing the essential functions and Cerebro isn't one of them."

"But if it is…well, we have a telepath in residence." Raven glanced over at Jean.

"What's your point Mystique?" Logan's voice was harsh.

"Simple. If Cerebro can be used to track mutants, then we can look for survivors all over the country. All over the world eventually."

Jean jumped to her feet. "That's right! We should start right now!"

"Can you contact them telepathically through Cerebro?" Logan asked her.

"I don't think so – I've never used it myself, although I sometimes watched the Professor use it."

"Great." Raven looked disgusted. "If she screws it up, that's our best shot at finding survivors gone."

"There are other ways," said Logan. "And who says that all the survivors want to be found? Maybe they just want to be left in peace."

"You don't believe that," replied Raven. "Even you came running back, looking for human company. If the flu is as serious as I…is as serious it appears to be, there may be people around with no way of finding other people. We can gather them here."

"Why?" Logan regarded Raven suspiciously. "What's with the sudden concern about the human race all of a sudden? Why do you feel the need to gather people? This isn't another one of Magneto's little plans is it?"

"No!" Raven slammed her fist against the table for emphasis. "I haven't heard from Magneto since before the flu escaped. I don't know where he is. He could be dead for all I know."

"Magneto? Doubt it." Logan still seemed wary of Mystique's motives but for the time being at least dropped the subject.

Jean pushed away her plate, all her appetite gone. She had no idea who 'Magneto' was but Logan seemed to distrust him and Raven both. So why had he let her into the mansion? All she could think of was that either it had something to do with Todd – Logan might be gruff and irritable but she sensed that he was a good man and he'd want to help out a kid in trouble, the way he had with her – or else Raven had some kind of hold over him. She couldn't imagine it was the latter.

Quietly she left her plate and left the room, finding Todd clean and fully dressed standing at the top of the stairs. She gave him what she hoped was a friendly smile. "Hi Todd. Found yourself a room yet?"

"Haven't looked," said Todd, peering over the banister. "That Logan guy, he a friend of yours?"

"I only met him last night. He seems nice."

"Sure," said Todd with a bitter laugh. "Still, he's gotta be better than Mystique."

"I wondered…" Jean wondered how to ask. "What's she like? Why do I feel like we've met before?"

"You have. She's a shapeshifter. Her day job is Principal of Hellhole High."

"_Principal Darkholme_?" Jean turned the idea around in her mind. The two women shared several characteristics, the way they spoke and their posture. But the Principal a mutant? Jean couldn't believe it.

"You never noticed? Thought you read minds yo."

"I can but I don't unless I have permission."

"Where's the fun in that?"

"Powers aren't about having fun, they're about being responsible, making life better."

"Right." Todd gave her a sneaky sideways glance. "You're telling me that you _never_ used your powers for anything fun?"

"Well…maybe a few things," said Jean, remembering the time she had used her telekinesis to spray Scott with water from the fountain. Then she realised she would never again be able to play silly pranks on Scott again and her happiness withered.

Todd glanced up at her hopefully. "Maybe you could show me around, y'know, tell me where everything is. I keep feeling like I'm gonna get lost or something."

Jean forced herself to think of the present. "Sure. I'll help you find a room."

She took the boy on a guided tour, grateful for the opportunity to take her mind off the issues swirling around her head since she had woken up. The past was dead; the future uncertain, the people that now surrounded her unknown. She didn't know what to think of the people that for now at least were her companions but she thought that no matter how unsettling she found the woman – Principal Darkholme, now _that_ was weird – she had been right. There was a way for them to find other survivors, others as alone and afraid and uncertain as she had been. Still was.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Rogue ate ravenously, momentarily forgetting the stranger opposite. She couldn't remember the last time she had eaten anything but toast and biscuits, too busy taking care of Irene at first and then too depressed and confused to think of anything so mundane. But the smell of the tin of spaghetti bolognaise that the stranger – Remy, she reminded herself – was eating had made her realise just how hungry she was. He dumped half the tin on a plate in front of her and she hadn't been able to resist. A part of her felt guilty – how could she be thinking of food when everyone she had ever known was dead? But the thought didn't kill her appetite.

They were sat on the grass in the local park, the lengthening shadows and the small flame from the gas-powered camping stove making her see the area in a way she never had before. She had never thought of the place as anything more than a place to play in her childhood years, later relegated to a short cut between school and home. Given a few more years and a lack of epidemic, it might have been the place where she came with her dates.

She shoved that thought out of her head in a hurry.

Remy waited until she had finished before he asked any questions. "_Chere_, you said you know Remy would be here – how?"

Rogue shook her head, her mind returning to the urge that had led her out here. "Ah don't know. It was like an itch in mah head. Ah had a feeling that some one would be here, some one like you. Ah could see you in mah head…" She trailed off, not quite knowing how to describe it.

"Dis de first time it happen?"

"Yeah – no. Ah thought ah saw you in mah head before but ah was…upset. Mah mother…"

Remy waited, not wanting to prompt her. She had obviously just lost her family and he didn't want to be seen as insensitive, even though he wanted to know the answer. Was she a mutant? It seemed likely if she could see him in her head before she had even met him.

Eventually Rogue looked up again and continued. "Mah mother – mah adoptive mother Irene – she died and ah held her hand. At the same time all these – images – ran through mah mind. People ah don't know, places ah've never been. Ah don't know _what_ happened. And since then ah keep getting _ideas_, like things are gonna happen. Ah thought it was – ah dunno, stress or something. But here you are."

"_Oui_." Remy thought he knew what was happening. She _was_ a mutant, a precognitive by the sound or maybe some kind of telepath, the powers triggered by the emotional turmoil of her mother's death. That would be useful. He could do with knowing what was around the corner in a world he didn't recognise anymore.

"Guess you think ah'm crazy, huh?" Rogue gave a shaky laugh. "Ah'm sure beginning to think ah am."

"No _chere_." Remy made as if to take her hands and she snatched them away. It might be rude, but she couldn't shake the memory of the feeling she'd had when she'd touched Irene's skin. She was wearing gloves as always, the habit deeply ingrained from the time the dermatologist told her she had a skin condition and Irene had insisted she never went out without them, but she still didn't want to touch him. Just in case.

Pretending he hadn't noticed the gesture, Remy made like he was warming his hands against the camping stove, pretty ridiculous in the balmy Mississippi evening but at least he saved face. "_Chere_, do you know anything about mutants?"

"No – yes – ah don't know. Ah never thought about it before but when ah saw those images ah just _knew_ that some of them were mutants. They all had different powers – but that was just mah _imagination_. A stupid hallucination!"

"When Remy was in New Orleans, he met a man who told him about mutants." Remy popped open a bottle of beer he'd liberated from a nearby shop and offered it to Rogue. "Until then, Remy t'ought he was the only person in de world with dese powers."

Rogue gave him a disbelieving look. "Powers? What powers?"

Remy took a card out of his pocket and charged it, watching Rogue's eyes grow wide in surprise. He flicked it aside casually and it exploded a short distance away, blackening the grass.

"Oh. Mah. _God_!" Rogue gaped at him. "How do you do that?"

"Dunno." Remy popped the top of another beer and drank. "Just woke up one morning and pow! Dere it was."

"So…" Rogue battled her confusion as best she could. "Who was it that told you about mutants?"

"Man called himself Magneto…_chere_, you alright?"

Rogue didn't reply, clutching her head as her mind was suddenly overcome with images…

_Tall, white hair, blue eyes that seemed to burn into ones soul, emerging from the wilderness to shake up their lives… _

_The girl, screaming in anger, determined to get revenge…_

_The boy, caught in the middle, not knowing what to do for the best…_

_Behind them all the shadow, something that would scar all their lives, something with no mercy that couldn't be stopped…_

"NO!"

"_Chere_!" Remy caught hold of her wrists, fortunately covered by her shirt. "What's wrong?"

"Something's after them…something. Ah don't know what."

"After who?"

"Ah don't know!" Rogue snatched her hands away and ran them through her hair. "It's so unclear, ah just wish ah knew what…"

Something came back to her, a memory. Her eyes widened. "The drawer!"

"Huh?"

"Irene said there was something for me in the drawer, that ah shouldn't open in for a week. That was a week ago!"

"But…"

Rogue jumped up, truly excited. "Maybe it says something in there about what's going on! Maybe she knew something! Why else would she want me to leave it for a week? Come on, let's go!"

Remy got up and followed reluctantly, taking out his bike keys and suggesting they ride. He was beginning to have misgivings about this girl. Not that he didn't think he could trust her – she was a bereaved, confused teenage girl and he doubted she was up to anything underhand – but there was something _strange_ going on. Did she really believe some foster mother in small-town Mississippi knew something about a flu epidemic? And if she did, how? _Was_ Rogue a precognitive or a telepath – or something else?

He didn't know. But he intended to find out.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Sam didn't know what to do.

His family were buried. It had taken him from dawn until past nightfall but he had done it. He had fallen into an exhausted sleep that had been haunted by dreams. In some of them Paige ripped her skin off in the extremes of her fever. In others he ran from room to room trying to tend to all his family members, wearing himself too thin to do more than bear witness to their suffering. The most ominous one saw him trekking from house to house all over town, finding nothing but empty houses and echoes the only things greeting his shouts. When he woke up he was no more rested than he had been upon going to sleep, the feeling that something had gone terribly wrong with his life still there.

He had searched the whole town, being more reminded of his dream with every house he went to. There seemed to be no one left alive in the whole town. Every time he pushed open a door he was greeted by silence. Every time he called, there was no reply. The only people there were the corpses of his neighbours.

He had gone back home – where else was there? It crossed his mind that he could go anywhere he liked now he didn't have to worry about the confines of school but a part of him was too scared. What if _everywhere_ was like this? He knew the flu hadn't been confined to his town. Knowing that everyone he had ever known was dead was bad enough. He couldn't imagine leaving, searching the rest of the state and finding no one alive – that would be soul destroying. And what then? Leave the state and search the rest of America? It would take him years and there was no certainty of finding survivors.

He could live without knowing, but he wasn't sure he could live without hope. He knew that at some point he would have to move on, try to find other people, he couldn't spend the rest of his life wandering about this town of the dead, but he wanted to put it off for a little while longer. Build up his courage. And somehow work out how to say goodbye to the only home he had ever known and the family he would be forced to leave buried there.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

"I don't think she's up to it," said Logan, giving Mystique a glare. "She just watched three people die and she doesn't know where her family are. Give her a break."

"We can't afford the delay," replied Mystique irritably. "We have to find other survivors."

"Why right now?"

"Because another week with only you for company and I'll go insane." Mystique leant back in her chair, listening out for Jean or Todd but hearing neither. "Because if we leave it a while then there may not be as many survivors left to find."

"What are you talking about?"

"The disease had a communicability rate that wiped out most of the country. This is a damn big country, how many people are going to think they're the only ones left? At first it might be hard for them but as time goes on it'll only get harder and when they think they know it'll always be that way – they might give up, do something stupid. Not to mention all the other things that affect people everyday and wouldn't be serious if the world wasn't like it is now. Food poisoning – no refrigeration or ovens, how many are going to undercook bad meat on an open fire? Fires are another thing, I'll bet that a lot of people use them for comfort while they sleep and let them get out of control. Broken bones, infected wounds, everyday problems that are suddenly a big deal because no one knows how to deal with them. And what about people that _can't_ take care of themselves, like kids?"

"Since when did you become the voice of social concern?" Logan tried to sound sarcastic but inwardly he was shaken. He had thought about the survivors of course but he hadn't thought as far as what might be happening to them. He'd assumed they would all be doing what they were doing, finding one or two others, banding together, getting by. He hadn't considered that they might not be coping.

"I have to do _something_." Mystique kept her voice low but there was an underlying tension there. Logan frowned. There was something different about Mystique since he had returned to Bayville. She had always been hard, selfish, unconcerned about others and he doubted that the outbreak would change her that much. Yet she seemed desperate to help those left alive, from the boy she had brought with her to the nameless others scattered throughout the country. It wasn't like her, but he didn't know what could have made her change.

"Fine." Logan came to a decision. "I'll ask Jean if she's up to using Cerebro, try and get a lock on some of the other survivors. If she can, we can use the Velocity to go after them, see if they want to come back here, though what we'll do with them once they're here I don't know. If she can't trace them – she might not be able to use Cerebro remember – tough. Don't make her feel bad about it."

"She has to trace them," said Mystique, ignoring Logan's curious looks. She was responsible for the death of millions of innocent people and the least she could do now was to do what she could to help those she hadn't.

Maybe that would give her some peace of mind.


	12. Foreshadowing

Thanks to:

Ishandahalf – Bit more like the bunny on crack this time! I'm quite enjoying writing repentant Mystique, trying to make up for her mess is something I've never tried before.

LadyEvils – I really enjoy writing Jean, she has so many fun dimensions to explore. Pietro and Wanda are both gonna play a huge part of the fic so watch this space! I've never really thought about how Jean and Todd would get on if they were thrown together but I can actually see them being friends.

Todd Fan – I know I've promised this before, but I really am gonna start being nicer to Sam soon!

Minnaloushe – Loved your fic as you probably gathered from the reviews! Jean using Cerebro will be coming up soon and she is gonna have some problems there, although not what you might expect…I always thought that if Todd lived at the mansion, Logan would make him take a shower! Accents, particularly Remy's, give me problems so it's good to know they don't sound weird. In the comics most of Irene's visions were set in stone but I don't like that idea – I prefer the thought that they can change what she sees if they can interpret it, so expect lots of panic while they try to work out what Rogue's visions mean and when they'll happen. Whenever I see Logan and Mystique talking in the comics (including a really bizarre 'What if?' when they were dating!) it makes me smile so I wanted some of that to be in the fic.

Sangofanatic – Hey, the fic was only up a day or so before you reviewed! A lot of the mutants will end up meeting up, although not necessarily at the mansion…and not everyone will get along, don't worry! I don't think that everyone would play happy families just because there aren't very many survivors. I decided to let Rogue keep the precognition because she held on to Irene for too long – that's how she got her flight/ super-strength after all so I thought I'd take advantage of that. Rogue has to learn the true nature of her powers sooner or later so there will be lots of angst there!

TheDreamerLady – Sam's mullet makes his hair kinda interesting! Glad you enjoyed the chapter!

Rogue14 – Loved the new chapter! And I looked more like Callisto than Cyclops sadly but now I have both eyes back, yay! Rogue and Gambit are safe from the disease but I'm not promising they'll be safe from anything else…

Furygrrl – Thanks for the recommendations and for the present:Grins at a nekkid and nervous Lance: Todd and Jean as friends seemed to be logical, I can just see Jean taking him under her wing as opposed to Logan or Mystique (there's a frightening thought!). Cerebro is gonna be a major plot device so right now _I'm _taking a crash course in how the damn thing works! And wait no more for the bad guys – here they are! Lots of foreshadowing, just what I like doing. I had forgotten about Irene's letter myself, I was looking for something in that chapter and spotted it – oops! I'm going to be nicer to Sam from now on (I know, I've said that before but this time I mean it). I doubt that Mystique can keep her secret forever but it won't be revealed any time soon. I do have plans for the others to find her out what she did…

**Author Note: **Only one of the characters in this chapter has been mentioned previously and one was never on Evo (although he is a canon character). I've never looked at any of these characters in any depth before and I'd like to know if you think they're realistic or not. It's a shorter chapter than the ones before which is why I was able to get it posted more quickly.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

"Mutants."

Trask spat the word as he surveyed the SHIELD facility cameras. He saw nothing but the decaying corpses of his former colleagues on the screens, the flies alighting on their bodies, the now-empty room that held previously held Wolverine. It had pained him to let the man go but it was only a matter of time before he had tried the floor or ceiling and found them made of nothing more sturdy than concrete, no matter what the walls were coated with. Better to release him and quell his suspicions rather than have him on a rampage around the facility.

A mutant had caused the virus. A mutant had broken into a top-security facility and stolen the virus, then either deliberately set it loose on the population or else accidentally allowed it to escape. Either way, this was all the fault of the mutants.

Had anyone listened to him when he first put forward his proposal for taking care of the mutant population then there might be a lot more humans around. As it was, Fury had vetoed his suggestion and now it was too late. There was barely a world left worth saving. No point in taking any action at all.

Except…

Fury seemed to think that Logan would be able to cure the virus thanks to his healing factor. When Trask had taken over as Head of the facility due to everyone who outranked him being ill, he had taken the liberty of entering into the encrypted files on known mutants and had been very interested with what he had found. Wolverine wasn't the only mutant that SHIELD was aware of.

Professor Charles Francis Xavier. Telepath. Currently a resident of Bayville and running a school for gifted youngsters. Intriguing.

Ororo Munroe. Weather manipulator, sometime goddess, sometime thief. Also a teacher at the Institute.

Erik Magnus Lensherr. Power over metal objects and magnetic pulses. Current whereabouts unknown. Considered dangerous.

Identity unknown. Aliases include B. Byron Biggs, D. Raven, Leni Zauber. Shapeshifter. Current whereabouts unknown. Also considered dangerous.

Victor Creed. Accelerated healing factor and massive strength. Current whereabouts unknown. Wanted for questioning. Considered dangerous.

Irene Adler. Precognition. Current address in Caldecott County Mississippi.

Jean Grey. Telepath with evidence of telekinesis. Resident of the Xavier Institute.

Wanda Maximoff. Reality manipulation. Currently incarcerated in a hospital for the mentally ill.

There were others, pages of them. And these were only the mutants SHIELD knew about. What if there were more?

Trask wanted to tell himself that most if not all of them were dead but it seemed unlikely. If Wolverine was able to survive, didn't that suggest that mutants were in fact more resistant to the virus or even immune? That meant that these – people – were running around the country unchecked. It might even have been some big mutant conspiracy. Release the virus, kill the humans and leave the world for the freaks.

The only thing he had trouble reconciling was his own continued survival. If the virus affected humans, why not him? He wasn't a mutant. Was it some quirk of his genetics? But that would mean he had some link to the mutants and that he wouldn't accept. He could only assume that no virus, no matter how virulent, could kill off an entire species and that was why he was still alive. There had to be other humans around too.

That left him with a distasteful conclusion; although there were still humans alive, the mutants were now the majority. The next step would be to seek out the surviving humans and exterminate them. Then the mutants would have the world and the humans would be a footnote in history, like the dinosaurs.

Some one had to ensure the continued survival of the species.

Fortunately, Trask had a plan. There was no way the muties were killing off the humans without a fight. He could use a friendly face, some one the same species as him just so he knew he wasn't alone. But it wasn't essential. When the other humans realised that there was some one who could do something about the freaks, they would come out of hiding and join his crusade. For now, he had to work alone. Luckily for him the SHIELD facility was entirely self-contained, able to run for up to two years without using an outside power source with no noticeable loss of power in any department.

Lucky for him of course. Not for the muties.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Erik Lensherr floated over the ocean on a circle of metal. Usually he would employ a metal sphere for the journey but he had wanted to see for himself just how much of the country was decimated. He had been in Europe when the virus had hit, working in secret and only realising something was happening when he realised both Mystique and Django had been trying to get in touch with him. His attempts to contact them had failed and he had left the dreary castle he had been working in to find a world in turmoil. People had collapsed in the street, in their cars, in churches, dying where they fell and being left to rot.

The virus had brought new realisations to him. He had spent half of his life preparing for a war between humans and mutants, readying himself to champion homo superior against the humans who would see them enslaved, using their powers for their own benefit and treating them like cattle or worse. He firmly believed that for every human who learned to accept them, there would be a hundred more who feared and reviled them. It made sense that the day they were exposed was the day they would become targets. Except now everything was different. There were few people around, human or mutant. The war he had prepared for wouldn't happen.

The new world however was the perfect backdrop for Xavier's idea. With so few survivors it would be unlikely that the humans would shun them if they could make life better, more bearable with their gifts. By the time life was almost back to normal, mutants would just be another ethnic group, no more different than if they were separated by race or religion. He admired Charles but considered him a hopeless dreamer. Erik was a realist. He'd had no other choice. Much as he would have liked to envision peace between humans and mutants, he doubted such a thing would have been possible in the world before the virus.

But now…things were different. Maybe they could take their place in society, above the humans instead of subservient to them. Maybe these were the only circumstances in which such peace could be obtained.

He intended to go to the Xavier Institute soon, speak to Charles and decide how to play things from here. Not that he wanted to join the crusade that Charles had dedicated his life too any more than Xavier would want to join Erik's, but there might be some mutually beneficial conclusion. Which really depended on the survivors.

The survivors were the first thing he had to turn his attention to. He knew where his son and daughter had last been – Pietro in New York, Wanda in the asylum – and before he made any plans he had to find them. He had already lost one child and had distanced himself from the twins, becoming cold and calculating, partly thinking that if he didn't let himself care too much about them, if he saw them as pawns on a chessboard rather than his children, then losing them wouldn't hurt as much. Hell, he had already lost them in every way that counted – he hadn't seen either of them for years, Wanda hated him and Pietro's feelings were unknown. He had thought if one of them was to die, he would take it in his stride, angry and vengeful but not crippled with sorrow the way he had been when Anya had died. But now, not knowing their fate, he found himself feeling the familiar pain and loss that had accompanied his elder daughters demise. It had taken him so long to realise there was something going on, by now either of them might have contracted the virus and died in the same way as the unfortunates he had seen, choking on their own blood, their brains fried by their high temperatures. Or Wanda might have lived to be trapped in the asylum; starving to death in the four-by-eight cell he had put her in. Or Pietro might have done something reckless with no Django or Marya to pick up the pieces.

Not knowing was the worst part. Not knowing if they were dead, not knowing if he was too late. If in his quest to prepare for a war between the species he had inadvertently sacrificed his own children for a struggle that might never happen.

The coastline beckoned in the distance and he tried to force the doubts from his mind. He would find the children and make it up to them somehow. If there was no war then maybe they could become a family, a real family, at long last.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

The forest was full of life, even if the towns weren't. Small game didn't really interest him but for the moment it was all there was. He crept noiselessly through the trees, tracking a deer. Venison tonight. Delicious. Then sleep. Then maybe he would think about bigger things.

He caught the scent again and grinned ferally. He had no idea what had felled the humans but it made no difference to him. Other people held little interest to him. The problems of the rest of the world were far from his mind as he continued tracking the animal, nothing worrying him save the hunt. He had all the time in the world to think of other things.

He spied the deer in a clearing and growled. The animal looked up, scenting the air with its delicate nose. Before it could flee he burst from the trees and was upon it, tearing at it with thick black fingernails that were almost claws, enjoying the animals shrieks and the coppery scent of its blood spilling. He got a hand onto its belly and casually unzipped its guts, the creature collapsing and dying beneath him.

The hunt could go easy or hard, but the result was always the same.

He could have started a fire and cooked the meat, but he chose not to. No point in attracting attention. Not that the thought of company worried him but why invite problems? Instead he used his nails to worry a chunk of meat from the deer's hindquarters and tore into it, chewing without finesse, letting blood trail down his chin. Leaning against a tree, he held the morsel in his hands and contemplated his next move.

He had to leave Canada, that much was certain. His old foe would be looking up old friends in the States and that was where he planned on going. Logan had always been more of a solo act before, a loner, leaving his friends far behind while he hit the open road. But now most of the population were worm-food that would change. The one thing that never seemed to vary about Logan was his never-ending search for redemption; to overcome the animal he was so afraid of becoming.

Pathetic.

Logan would be searching out his friends, making sure they were aright, getting them back on their feet, helping them out in any way he could. Maybe he would get roped into staying with them, lulled into a sense of security by surrounding himself with other mutants, start a community of some kind to stave off the loneliness that some people seemed to feel when they were on their own. Scared humans, frightened mutants, little piggies lined up in a row for him to go through before he reached his true objective.

_One shall fall by the others hand…_

Sabretooth grinned and took another mouthful of raw meat. The hunt might be hard, but it was always fun. And the result was always the same.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Reproduction.

The usual method was through sex, messy, undignified and inaccurate. There was no _certainty_ to reproduction through sex. No guarantee of a result, no way to ensure gender or ability. Evolution happened so slowly when left to sex. That was the real reason that mutants were still a tiny minority of the population – too much was left to chance.

The virus might increase the percentage of mutants being born from now on – survival of the fittest would mean that only the hardiest people were left and it stood to reason that many of them would be mutants, more likely to pass on their genetic wealth. But the population was so decimated it could take decades or longer to repopulate the world. That meant although the _percentage_ of mutant births would be higher, the actual number would be lower.

And relying on childbirth was so chancy. Those who relied on chance would inevitably find only disappointment.

But there were other ways.

Genetic manipulation. Cloning. Cellular realignment. In vitro fertilisation. Just a few of the many options available to the scientist willing to push the boundaries, to refuse to be restrained by the norms of morality and so-called ethics. This new society was the perfect opportunity for such a man.

Nathaniel Essex was such a man.

He had been studying genetics his entire adult life, first in an ultimately futile and unwelcome attempt to save his wife's life and then because the process was fascinating. The possibilities were endless but the scope of his vision was frustrated by the lack of test subjects. The sudden surge in the mutant population had been most welcome and the unwilling assistants to his studies had given him some valuable insights as to how a mutant's power might be enhanced to the maximum but there was only so much he could do without attracting attention to himself. However, the virus had changed all that. Now he could continue his genetic experimentation without fear of reprisals, without any do-good types trying to stop him. Hell, the post-virus world _needed _what he had to offer. Without his expertise, how would homo superior be sure of the continued survival of the species?

But there was time for all that. There was always time, no need to rush into anything and overplay his hand. First he would give the survivors the chance to experience life without the luxuries they took for granted, heat, light, food. Let them get used to struggling for every little thing, raiding shops for tinned goods with the rancid smell of spoiled food in their nostrils, gradually coming to the realisation that sooner or later there would be nothing left and they would be forced to find another food source, growing their own vegetables and slaughtering animals just so they wouldn't starve. Wait until they realised that there were few other people out there and many of them wouldn't get along, the petty vendettas of society magnified in the minimalist culture that now existed, the rivalries for companionship amplified by the lack of choice.

Once they had suffered through that, Essex would make his move. Offering the survivors a better life, a chance to enlarge the population, to expand upon their own powers – there were those who wouldn't refuse. Every society has its outcast, regardless of its size or structure. Those would be the ones who agreed. And as for the others – he would be back for them. Refusing him was merely postponing the inevitable.

And his plans for those who declined his generous offer were somewhat more sinister.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Stoke Maximum Security Facility had lost power from the main supplier several days previously but all such institutions had a generator – the loss of power was used as an excuse to riot by the prisoners and no one wanted the type of people that were incarcerated here to get excited. The last riot had left one prison officer dead and another badly beaten. The prisoners in Stoke didn't expect to be released ever and anything to blow off some steam was welcome. It wasn't like any more time to their sentences would make a difference.

When the generator had been installed, no one had expected that a blackout would last longer than a few hours. The generator was for emergencies only, not designed to last for an extended amount of time. It lasted admirably but when the main power didn't come back on, eventually it failed.

When the facility was plunged into darkness for the final time, no one rioted. No one was left alive. The generator had allowed the prisoners to die in the stark fluorescent light and illuminated their lifeless corpses, none of them able to complain when the jail went black for good. The only light reaching the rooms was the weak sunlight barely penetrating the barred and bulletproof windows, casting the decaying bodies in shadow.

Deep in the bowels of the facility, there were no windows and no light. The darkness was total, no way for human eyes to see what was directly in front of their face let alone what obstacles were in their path. The main room was almost circular, the technology that had been the focus now useless. The centre of the room was metallic, hiding a tube, over eight feet long, submerged under the floor. The tube was made of a clear, tough plastic and was filled with a paralysis fluid that relied upon a constant electrical pulse to keep it functioning. This was where the most dangerous inmate of the facility was kept, never allowed to regain consciousness because if he did, there was no way that he could be stopped from breaking free of the jail.

With the generator failed, the electrical pulse that ensured the effectiveness of the paralysis fluid ceased. The fluid was sufficient for a short time, but eventually its operational function weakened. The prisoner trapped within regained motor functions first, twitching his fingers as he struggled toward consciousness. It was like waking from a long dreamless sleep, emerging from his static state and becoming aware of where he was.

Somewhere within the blackness of the facility incarcerating the dead, Cain Marko opened his eyes.


	13. Questions And Answers

**Author Note: **The thanks this time were so long I put them to the end of the chapter. If you reviewed, you're there! When I got to two pages I thought I'd better move them. Everyone left such lovely long reviews I had to answer all statements (that means ramble) and that's why. If it sounds like I meant for you to read the review before the chapter I probably did – it's kind of a spur of the moment thing. If you like this way better, let me know. Also, this is the first time I've tried to use Cerebro as a plot device so let me know how that worked, if it did. Some of it from the comics, some from Evo, some from the film.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Jean had barred both Mystique and Todd from the Cerebro room, fearing that they would distract her. She had grudgingly allowed Logan to watch on the condition he didn't disturb her or break her concentration in any way. In spite of his silence, she could sense his presence and it made her uncomfortable.

She gave the headset a suspicious look, not knowing if she was doing the right thing. What if she couldn't work Cerebro? It would be bad enough if the alien thoughts of other people were to overwhelm her but it would be infinitely worse if nothing at all were to happen. At least if she couldn't cope with the minds of others she would have been able to work the damned machine and in time she might be able to locate the survivors. If nothing happened, she would have let everyone down.

Trying hard to banish the doubts from her mind, she put on the headset. She could work Cerebro. She had to be able to.

For a moment nothing happened and she thought her worst fears had come true – then the influx began. Shadowy figures took form in her mind, although she was unable to sense more than a shadow of their thoughts. One thing to be grateful for, since those shadows were hard enough to cope with.

Under normal circumstances, there would have been millions of minds and her untutored powers might not have been enough to protect her. As it was, she was barely able to stop herself ripping the headset off and throwing it across the room. The assault on her mind was all-encompassing and she gritted her teeth, determined to get results. She'd show them she was just as capable and strong as they were…

_A man, no, a boy, trying to coax a baby into taking a bottle…_

"Mutant life signs confirmed," droned the computer.

_Another boy sleeping uneasily, lay on top of the covers still fully dressed…_

"Mutant life signs confirmed."

_A girl sat beneath a tree, idly watching the clouds…_

"Mutant life signs confirmed."

"_That's enough_!" Jean snatched the headset off, the images behind her eyes fading almost instantly. The sensation that they were still in her head remained.

"You OK Jeannie?" Logan was beside her in an instant, making sure she was alright.

"I'm fine," replied Jean, pushing an errant strand of hair off her face. "It's just – that was unpleasant."

"It's done with for now," said Logan. "And it worked! Cerebro's sorting through the information you found right now."

Jean looked at the computer screen and felt her spirits rise. The computer screen was flickering through several screens, coming up with pictures and information. She tapped on the keyboard and began to study the information.

The first picture was identified as Lance Alvers, last known address in Illinois, currently in Indianapolis. She gave the picture a curious look. While using Cerebro she was sure she had seen him with a baby but the machine hadn't picked up on it. She had only set the scan on mutants – Cerebro couldn't scan for both humans and mutants at the same time – which meant that the child hadn't manifested any powers. An eighteen-year-old boy in charge of a baby. She dreaded to think what was happening there.

Samuel Guthrie, the second picture. Currently at his home address in Kentucky. The picture showed a friendly faced blonde boy and Jean wondered just how much of that smiling, happy teen was still left in the face of what had happened.

The computer was having a hard time with the third person, not seeming able to focus on one person. Jean frowned and tapped a few more buttons, trying to get it to give her at least some information. Eventually it seemed to decide on one person and she glanced at the picture and sighed.

"I've screwed up," she said bitterly.

"What are you talking about?" Logan rested a hand on her shoulder. "Seems to have gone fine so far."

"Yeah? Well look at this." Jean moved slightly so that Logan could see the screen.

"Oh."

"Cerebro seems to think you're in the Midwest. One of the people I saw seems to be you – but I _saw_ that person and it was a girl. I've screwed up somewhere."

"Don't worry about it," said Logan soothingly. "Probably just a glitch."

"Some glitch. What if the others I've found are messed up?"

"We won't know until we trace them," said Logan. "And even if one of them is off, doesn't mean the others are. You ever hear of the other two before?"

"No."

"Then they'll be there. It was probably me being in the room that messed up your concentration – but you did good."

"Thanks." Jean allowed herself a smile. She _had_ done well. Even though she had found only three people and one of them was some kind of mistake, she'd managed to use Cerebro and locate other people. She felt rather proud.

"We can use the Velocity to go see these kids," said Logan, a frown on his face. "And I think you might be the best person to talk to them. You're about their age by the looks and you've been through similar things since the flu hit."

"You don't look happy about it," said Jean.

"I just don't like the idea of leaving Mystique and Todd here alone," replied Logan. "When Chuck was here, she would have done anything to get her hands on some of the stuff in here."

Jean shrugged. "Maybe, but what harm can she do now? The Institute is the best place for her to be at the moment – we have power still and we can trace survivors. It's in her best interests to work with us. Besides, even if she has information or technology, there's not a lot she can do with it now is there?"

"I guess not." Logan didn't look too convinced. "We'd better tell them what we found out."

Logan and Jean left the Cerebro room and almost ran straight into Mystique, who was waiting outside the door. She seemed unusually anxious.

"Did you find anyone? Were you able to work it?"

"She did it," said Logan, wondering about the woman's edginess. "We found two survivors straight away, maybe even three."

"Where? In Mississippi?"

Logan gave her a curious look. "No, not in Mississippi. Jean was only able to use it for a short time."

"_No one_?" Mystique strode over to Jean and got uncomfortably close, making Jean lean back and wonder what had gotten into the shapeshifter who was usually so calm. "You found _no_ survivors in Mississippi?"

"Back off Raven." Logan took Mystique by the arm and pulled her away from Jean. "Just because she didn't locate anyone doesn't mean there was no one left alive. She did her best and found some people. Give her a break."

Mystique nodded and took a deep breath, getting herself composed again.

"Mississippi." Logan thought about it for a moment. "Is that where Irene is?"

"None of your business," snapped Mystique.

"If you want to find her, make it our business."

Mystique glared at Logan for a moment. "That's where Irene is."

Jean was confused but didn't know how to ask any questions. Who was Irene? And why did Logan know so much about her? It occurred to her again that Logan and Mystique seemed to have some shared past that she knew nothing about but they didn't seem to like each other so what was the connection?

"Then we'll search Mississippi when Jean's recovered from using Cerebro – it was a strain on her. What did Irene have to say about the flu?"

"Just that she saw it coming."

Logan narrowed his eyes. "_When _did she see it coming?"

Mystique ran her hand through her hair, betraying her nervousness. "Only after it was too late to do anything about it."

"Meaning that the virus wasn't supposed to happen. Some one changed things."

"What does it matter now?" Mystique's eyes flashed. "We might never know what happened. Even if Irene's still alive, she might not have seen anything. The future isn't like the one she saw, so everything she told me is useless now."

"Yeah." Logan shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to get used to this new attitude from Mystique. She had always been able to justify her actions but she seemed defensive almost. Then he dismissed the thoughts. She was worried about her oldest friend, a woman who was probably dead. It made sense that she would want to preserve the memory of her friend, find an explanation for Irene's inability to foresee the tragedy that had befallen the world.

"We're gonna chase up these kids," said Logan, including Jean in his statement. "We'll take the Velocity. You and Todd stay here. We shouldn't be more than a day or so."

"You're leaving me in the mansion?" Mystique raised an eyebrow. "Isn't this a surprise."

"We don't have much choice," growled Logan. "And you can't do much damage now."

"I can," replied Mystique quietly. "But I won't. Go find these kids."

Logan strode off down the corridor, refraining from commenting on Mystique's sudden solicitousness. She had never before cared about anyone but herself and he was tempted to believe that it was in her best interests to recruit people to the Institute, maybe to further one of her plans or Magneto's ultimate goal of mutant superiority. But it made no sense. If that was her plan, why involve him and Jean? She knew he was there before she arrived at the mansion and knew he could screw up any plans she made. Or maybe he was reading too much into things. Maybe she really just wanted to help other survivors and her past misdeeds were clouding his judgement.

Jean followed Logan down the corridor, totally confused. She didn't know what to think. She could sense that Mystique was sincere in her desire to help but she couldn't bring herself to trust the woman totally. Fortunately, she would be able to ask Logan when they were in the Velocity without Mystique overhearing. She was going to find out what was going on around here. They owed it to her to clue her in. And if they didn't…well, she felt justified in reading their minds in that case. She had to protect herself and she'd known these people for less than three days. She hoped it wouldn't come to that – the Professor had drilled into her that privacy was important and she shouldn't read minds uninvited – but she refused to be kept in the dark any longer.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Rogue yanked open the drawer and eagerly pulled out the contents. A thick notepad and a sheet of paper, covered with Irene's sprawling writing. She had always been amazed at how legible her foster mothers words were considering she couldn't see what she was doing and now she was grateful for it. The sight of the familiar handwriting made her want to cry again and she resolutely forced the feeling away. She might have known Remy would be there but she wasn't sure about this knowledge, didn't quite trust it and she didn't want to show him any weakness.

The sheet of paper turned out to be a letter addressed to her and she read it to herself, growing more amazed and worried with every line.

_Rogue,_

_When you read this, I will have died. You buried me in the garden where the roses are. I can see you knelt in the bedroom with the diary on the floor, a man in a trench coat behind you._

Startled, Rogue turned around and made sure Remy was wearing a trench coat, although she already knew he was. How could Irene know that she would meet him, or that she would even be alive to read the note?

_This is going to come as a shock to you and I'm sorry. I should have been preparing you over the years as to what you are but I wanted you to have a normal life as long as you could. I knew as soon as your powers emerged, normality would be forever out of your reach. However, something has changed in the world, something that wasn't supposed to happen. That was the flu._

_I went blind when I was thirteen years old, but I can still 'see' so to speak. I see the future. I know that sounds unbelievable but I think right now you might be more inclined to believe me than you were when I was still alive. I see pathways, probabilities, what will probably happen. But the future isn't set, human actions are malleable and this is why I had no idea that the disease would be set upon the world although once it had been I knew what would happen. _

_Some thirteen years ago I had a vision of a young girl with mutant powers – I know you've learned about mutants now. That girl was you. I wasn't the one who adopted you. Your adoptive mother is called Raven Darkholme. She wanted to help you when I told her the nature of your powers and that you were about to be orphaned so she arranged to take you in. However, Raven is a powerful woman and aware that to look after you herself could place you in danger, hence she turned you over to me. She has seen you several times over the years and has provided for us both financially and socially, making sure you learn many of the skills you possess._

Rogue raised her eyes from the page and stared blankly at the wall for a moment. Irene didn't adopt her. Some one else had because she was a mutant and needed help. She supposed she should be grateful, but the news had come like a hammer blow to the chest.

_Our plan was to place you in Raven's custody once your powers emerged and she would teach you how to use them and educate you as to the nature of our enemies – mutants are not liked by many of those aware of our presence. This is a fear reflex but understanding this does not mean that these enemies are less deadly._

_Now everything has changed again and it falls upon me to tell you the nature of your powers. I know you are unsure what is happening to you – it happens to most mutants when their powers emerge. I was terrified when I found what my powers were. Trust me when I tell you that you have nothing to fear from your mutation if you exercise caution._

_You've been seeing visions because of your contact with me as I died. You are not naturally precognitive as I was, but now you are. Your gift is to temporarily absorb the powers and memories of another person through skin contact. The dermatologist lied to you at my instigation. I could not tell when your powers would manifest so I made up a phony skin condition to minimise the chances of you making skin contact with others and triggering your powers when I was not around to help you. Believe me when I say I did this to help you. I wanted you to have normalcy but I couldn't risk you exposing your powers or becoming afraid when you didn't know what had happened. This is a great gift, you will be able to use the powers of others or gain information from your enemies merely through a touch._

A gift.

Rogue couldn't believe what she was reading. A gift? Would she be able to choose when to trigger her mutation or was it something that she couldn't control, that would keep her from ever having contact with another human being? Irene couldn't possibly believe that such a thing was a gift.

_You may find it hard to believe now, but you will learn to adjust. However, you should learn a lesson from what happened to me when I died. I don't want you to feel any guilt over this – I would have died anyway. It was my time and I knew it was coming. When you touched my skin, you absorbed my powers. But because you held on for too long, the absorption is permanent. You will be able to access my powers for the foreseeable future, probably the rest of your life. And herein lies the danger to you. This prolonged contact will render the other person unconscious, in a coma or worse. You should be very careful or damn sure that you want them that way. There is no way to tell how else this will affect you – I do not see that in the future – but I'm telling you to exercise caution._

"No…"

Rogue dropped the letter and looked at her shaking hands. Had she hastened Irene's death by holding on to her? Was she really able to do that? But that didn't make her a mutant, it made her a leech, a vampire, stealing powers and essence and life with a touch.

"What's wrong _chere_?"

Remy frowned as he watched the change come over the girl. She had been excited to find the message from her dead mother but as she had read the note she had become more worried until she was trembling. Intuitively he knew it was more than the emotions that might overcome her having lost her only family and holding a reminder in her hands. Something in that note had upset her.

When she didn't reply, he walked over to her and rested his hand on her shoulder. "_Chere_, what…"

"_Don't touch me_!"

Rogue twisted out of his grip and gave him a look that was almost terror. "Ah'm _dangerous_, ah'm _poison_ so _don't touch me_!"

Remy held up his hands, startled. What the hell brought this on? "_Chere_, what's wrong?"

"Mah powers…"

"What about dem? You're a precog – or a telepath?"

"Ah'm a _vampire_!"

"Huh?"

Rogue picked up the letter and waved it at him. "_Irene_ was the one who could see the future and ah _stole _her powers! When ah touched her ah took her powers and _killed_ her!"

"Dat can't be…"

"That's what happened!" Rogue stood up, dropping the letter and heading to the door.

"_Chere_…"

"Stop calling me that! Just leave me alone!" Rogue ran from the room and Remy heard her run down the stairs and slam the front door. He sighed, confused. The girl was insane and he had no idea what the hell she was talking about. He was tempted to just jump on his motorcycle and get away from here – he'd had his fill of crazy women, enough to last him a lifetime. But then, there was no one else around to help her. She was a frightened teen and he felt slightly guilty for thinking of leaving her alone, but his healthy streak of self-interest forced him to consider it.

His gaze fell on the discarded letter and the notebook she hadn't even looked at and he allowed himself a smile. He might take off and leave her, but why make that choice before he knew all the facts? If she was right, if her adoptive mother was a precognitive, then maybe the book contained valuable information about the future. Whether he stayed or left, he could do with knowing what the future held. Nothing was certain anymore and any defences he could establish would be useful.

Without any guilt about invading Rogue's privacy, he picked up the book and the letter, sprawled out on the dead woman's bed and began to read.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

"I want answers Logan."

"Huh?"

Jean leant back in the co-pilots seat and folded her arms. "You and Mystique, you keep talking about things I have no idea about and I don't like being kept in the dark. You two haven't been in the mansion five minutes and you expect me and Todd to trust you but neither of us knows what's going on. It'd be easier to trust you if we knew a few things."

"Jean…" Logan adjusted some of the instruments, using it as an excuse not to meet her gaze. "It's complicated. Anything we talk about is in the past now."

"So it can't hurt to tell me."

"Actually it might. Neither of us is what you might call the model of restraint."

"If we're stuck in the mansion with you, then we need to know we can trust you. _I_ need to know I can trust you. I can't do that if you keep things from me. If you don't tell me what's going on, I can just read your mind."

"Trust me, you do _not _wanna do that."

Jean frowned. Logan's words didn't have an air of menace about them. They sounded more like a warning.

Logan sighed. "I'll tell you what's important, but I can't go over all that ancient history just to satisfy your curiosity. It'd take too long and most of it isn't relevant."

"That's fine."

"Mystique and I both have healing factors of a sort. Mystique's shapeshifting makes her able to negate wounds and poisons because she just changes to a form that isn't affected. I just…get better. We're both – let's just say we're older than you might think. A long time ago – a _very_ long time ago – we met up for the first time along with another woman, Irene. But we chose different paths. She ended up working for mutant superiority over humans and I ended up listening to Chuck and fighting the good fight. She's done some pretty bad things in her time but so have I."

Jean mulled over what he said. "But if that's the case, why does she seem to trust you and you don't trust her?"

Logan gave a humourless laugh. "Because Mystique operates through deceit and manipulation. I just lose my temper. She knows if I wanted her gone, she'd be gone. And she knows I don't trust her – no use in pretending. That's why she trusts me, because I'm honest enough to show it. And she knows what I'm like."

"That doesn't make much sense." Jean frowned, confused.

"I guess not," replied Logan. "But that's how it is. The thing is – she seems sincere at the moment. I've seen her _act_ sincere, good enough to fool anyone. But this concern, this _anxiety_, I've never seen that from her before."

"I can usually tell when some one's lying," said Jean. "It's part of the telepathy – even when I'm not reading minds I can tell. I sense she's telling the truth. But earlier, when you were talking about Irene, there was something else there. Not that she stopped telling the truth, but I think there was more to it than she let on."

"With Mystique, there usually is." Logan checked the co-ordinates. "Maybe the flu made her think about what she's been doing all these years. We're above Indianapolis. Since we can't pinpoint this kids exact location through Cerebro, we'll be tracking him the old-fashioned way. Think you can handle it? You haven't left the mansion since the flu hit. Things in the outside world aren't…pleasant."

"I can handle it," said Jean determinedly. "Count on it."

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Thanks to:

Ishandahalf – Thought I'd throw in some promises for future chapters just so ya know there are some bad guys coming up!

Furygrrl – Oddly enough, I'm sure that your review came up as anonymous on another fic I wrote a long time ago and I can't remember which – have to look into it. I have big plans for Juggy, I suddenly thought of it at work last week and I hadn't even planned to put him in the fic (so the boring and huge pile in my inbox had an upside). Sabretooth was a must-have, he couldn't die either so he has to show up sometime! I wanted to get across his feral side with the deer although I found that pretty gross myself. Buckethead's vanishing for a few chapters but he will be back and he will be reunited with the twins at some point – although I doubt it'll be happy families ;) I'm glad Sinister came off OK, I've never written him before and I must have done about three rewrites before I was happy with him. As to the big Summers/Grey plot, I haven't decided yet. I was gonna allude to it but I was so undecided I decided to leave it for now. Trask is way important for the later chapters of the fic but 'til then he'll be lurking Sabie-style in the wings!

UncannyAsianGirl – You know, I have never been to a comic book convention? They're always miles away and I don't drive. Have to settle for practically paying the wages at the local comic book shop. Anyway, I'm way into AoA at the moment, which is probably where the Logan/Red lust came from ;) I got a 'what if?' comic a while back where Logan and Mystique were a couple and I guess a lot of the uneasy banter between them rose from that idea (it won't leave my mind!). So far, the baby's codenamed 'Kid', I really can't think of what to call it! But I loved the idea of Lance forced to play daddy. Wanda and Pietro will be meeting up with other people soon. I am so against the Romy 'love at first sight' thing that I felt a bit compelled to do the opposite. Perhaps 'interest at first sight', although Remy might be evaluating that in this chapter ;) I always have problems with Jean getting dressed! As bizarre as it sounds I try to avoid mention of her wearing jeans but since that's all I wear (and the language thing – I can't see her wearing kecks or trews and I _hate_ the word 'slacks') that's what I end up writing. In one comic they mentioned that Logan and Mystique and Irene met before WW2 but failed to mention circumstances so I'm drawing off that without going into detail. Oh, and Rogue in this fic is Mystique's foster daughter. I sometimes neglect to make the distinction. I saw Todd latching on to Jean as a kind of big sister figure, so that's what's gonna happen in here. I've never really thought of Mags as a typical bad guy, more consumed with his 'mission' so I used that to make him a little less evil. I've just got the new comic of 'the End' where Rogue and Emma's kids are yelling about how their mums are gonna save them – it's pretty good! Remy as third Summers bro or Sinister's kid though – urgh. I'm glad you like the way I wrote the villains because I've never written them in depth before and it was a hell of a challenge. Hey, don't worry about not reviewing earlier, that damned real life gets in the way of all of us! And I look forward to the 'Ray of Light' vid, I showed 'Born to be Wild' to my non-X-Men fan friend and she loved it too, so you must be doing something right!

LadyEvils – There will be a big chink of Lance in the next chapter! The Villains chapter wasn't planned but when the idea came to me I just had to use it. And some mention of him here! Juggy hasn't a reason to rampage but when will he find that out? Essex and Trask will both be major players later on and Mags is gonna find the kids – Rogue saw it so it has to happen now!

Minnaloushe – Jean's powers going out of control have to happen at some point and no Scott and no Prof – I'm guaranteeing nothing! I want to follow the power progression as far as the first series is concerned at least and maybe into the second. A vote for Logan/ Jean romance? I'm really undecided about who will find romance with who but that has to be a possibility (especially with the 10 year anniversary AoA comics coming out now). I wasn't sure if I was just taking up space with the list of mutants so it's good to know it worked. With a fully operational SHIELD facility, Trask could have the Sentinels up and running in no time…NO! There will be no Mags/ Rogue romance! Much as the possibility worked OK in the comics, in Evo :shudders: it just wouldn't work. I was most pleased with the way Sabretooth worked out but I do have big plans for Sinister too. Until I got your review I hadn't thought of him bothering the dead but now – let's just say it might be a distinct possibility!

Todd Fan – From this chapter it might seem that Sam angst is about to change focus if not become a thing of the past!

Sangofanatic – I'm a touch surprised at my own choice of survivals to be honest. I've had the idea in my mind for some time now and who lives or dies changed all the time it was just in my head. And it changed while I was writing it too – Mystique was originally supposed to die!

Rogue14 – No, I'm not a guy but I guess I only look like Callisto from the shoulders up (no tentacles lol). Magneto always sees things the way he wants to (don't you just hate people like that?) and Sinister…he's never been a fave villain of mine but let loose on this world, think of what he could do!

TheDreamerLady – Whether or not Cain and Essex will get killed off, you'll have to wait to find out! Essex did make X-Man in the AoA AU (but now he's dead so all's well) and that's one of the reasons I included him – in a post-apocalyptic world he would be either a huge asset or huge threat. The human question is a good one and although I have been concentrating on mutants there have been a couple of humans thrown in and there will be more. At the moment I'm concentrating on the mutants but in a few chapters I'll be bringing in more human survivors. Some good, some bad and some ambiguous.


	14. Survivors

Thanks to:

Todd Fan – Random killing is damn fun! I always knew I'd let Jean and Rogue live but I never planned on killing Kitty – it just happened. And I wanted to leave some characters ambiguous – maybe dead, maybe not, but no one knows unless they turn up later.

LadyEvils – I plan to have the Logan/ X23 confusion go on for a while. I don't want her with the X-Men until she has a chance to enjoy freedom. You think I write Jean well? Thanks! I love writing Jean, she can be so different under different circumstances and she's so much fun! Remy is so strangely portrayed in the comics that you never know if he's a bad guy gone good, a bad guy pretending to be good or a good guy with a lot of hard choices. What I do know is that he is a bit self-obsessed so I thought that would carry over! He's hard to do in serious fics, especially if familiar with his comic-verse history and possible future comic-verse history (sometimes I curse myself for being so up to date with those!) And this chapter features seven word pages of Lance! Enjoy!

Sangofanatic – More Mystique next chapter – this one on what goes on in the Velocity. Nah, Rogue being freaked doesn't make you bad…she spends so much time like that in Evo anyway ;)

Ishandahalf – Changing the group dynamics right here! I actually feel really sorry for Rogue – the world and her adoptive mother dying then finding out she's unable to touch and she might have sped up Irene's death on top of having Irene's powers – that would suck. Except for having Remy to perv at of course ;) You know you're the second person to describe Remy as 'slimy' in a review? Just what I was going for so that's good! And I'm updating like a bunny on crack because of Easter break – after this you might find them a little slower.

Minnaloushe – I didn't want to make it too much of an ordeal for Jean to use Cerebro as I read somewhere (maybe in a comic book) that telepathy wasn't necessary to work Cerebro although it helped (can you imagine the cups they must drink from in the Institute?) I've never seen a TV show called Lost although it might be on in the UK later in the year (as is usually the case) The kinda-forcefield! I'd forgotten about that. Who survived and who didn't was pretty random but it's good to know that there might be reasons behind it that I didn't see ;) Although I think that Kitty's powers couldn't save her from a virus (as seen on Evo and something I've considered as to the nature of her powers) and Emma's might not be able to (I really didn't realise what a discussion on her powers I opened when I casually mentioned Emma – she was just some one I had no plan to use and knew enough about her powers to drop it into conversation) I'm thinking of some Jean romance in the future although who with is not yet decided – I've never done Jean /Logan before so there's a challenge, although Jean/ Lance is a favourite. And with Jean, something's got to give, especially when the Institute fills with people. OMG, you are so right about Evo Rogue/ Scarlet Witch although I never saw it before – I think I just took a dislike to their alternate dimension son Magnus (who looked exactly like X-Man). And if Sinister bothers the dead, it's not to resurrect them – not what I've got in mind right now anyway although that might change. The Piotr comment cracked me up BTW and in the next chapter I may go outside the US briefly, I had a good idea for a plot that would involve that, which I partly wrote last night. I nearly put a Havok mention in the last chapter except I haven't decided if he's alive or not yet! Mystique will bother about Kurt at some point although when I'm not saying (ain't I mean?) X23 turns up for a while here. Oh, and get well soon! Flu sucks.

TheDreamerLady – A long time ago I got the X-Man comics as a result of some of the stuff he was in being unmissable, but his own comics were a bit silly – way Gary-Stu. You get him mixed up with Cable because they are the same guy! Sort of. Cable is the son of Scott and Madeline (Jean's clone) and Nate (X-Man) is the son of alternate universe Scott and Jean (and neither of them knew about him, think they still have to pay child support?) Oh, and I've given Cain a girl in another fic and he still trashed the mansion! Although it was an accident. And I hadn't even _thought_ of Graydon! If he turns up here (a probability) you take credit for it! No Avengers butler here, trust me on this. He was so weak! Jean's trying to take everything into her stride but everyone's got to give sooner or later. Not that she's not strong but I think she tries too hard. It's in her nature but it's not necessarily a good thing all the time…

Furygrrl – I got plans for (topless – can't help myself!) Lance, Sam and X23. Heh, manage a trios, that would rule. Shameful…but it has PB's brain working overtime! Never be able to go to the library again! Cerebro was kinda hard because I've never thought about it much with anyone but the Prof and I thought that Jean should be able to use it but not without effects, hence the discomfort she had. Rogue never did finish reading the letter, so if there's anything else in there it's all Remy's to find out…And Rogue is going to have other troubles as well as Irene and Remy but because she's not in this chapter you have to wait! When I first got into X-Men I was really into the Romy thing but there's only so much of it you can take and now I find it kinda boring. You like the review responses above? Your wish is my command – well, as long as it suits me. I like them above as well but they were so long last time I sometimes just want to get to the story! And Juggy – in recent X-Men comics he's buried the hatchet with Chuck (and not in his back) and has joined the X-Men. Will that happen in a PB fic? Uh…no. Trust me, you'll like it! And it should be in three or four chapters. Would have been sooner but I had a flash of inspiration and added another chapter and I don't know where it will take me. Said flash will be the beginning of the next chapter. As to Sinister, I think I'll put him in a whole new direction. Neither Summers not Grey. It'll all become clear! I did plan Alex in the villains chapter but…I still haven't decided if he's alive or dead so I thought I'd leave it.

Rogue14 – I might have been a gay guy! Although there would have been less hetero stuff I guess. No that I get impure thoughts about Remy a lot – well OK, I do! I tend to ignore world leaders because they all piss me off so much, there's a general election in six weeks and I know no matter who I vote for it will make no difference at all. I voted once, never again. I ended up much worse off and I will again. At least you can write cool anti-bush songs! To be honest, Sinister will not be focusing on the dead but it is a possibility I could play with ;)

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

The kid wanted feeding every four hours. He would wake up and give his 'hungry' cry, different to the 'dirty' cry or the 'windy' cry. Lance wasn't sure when he got to realise the difference, only that he knew them and he was too tired to care when he realised. There was something to be said for eight hours of unbroken sleep – not that he was likely to know what that was like for a while yet.

"OK kid," he said as he gave the baby some formula he had prepared in foresight of being woken. "Here's your bottle. But this book says you have to sleep through the night soon."

He lay back against the pillows he had liberated from a local shop, the baby sucking greedily at the bottle. He couldn't blame the kid for insisting on food – how long had he gone without? But Lance would give anything for just one night of unbroken rest. He had remained in the library, figuring it an unlikely target for looters but equipped with everything he needed. A table to rest the camping stove on, a toilet, books on baby care. God knew he needed those. He'd rescued a stash of Pampers from a supermarket, formula from the chemist and food and water for himself. They were set up in this place.

It might be nice to talk to some one who had mastered the language though. Some one who had an opinion. Some one to talk to. Lance had never been much of a reader and the lack of sleep was making it harder for him to concentrate on anything.

When he heard the 'copter outside, he thought he was dreaming.

He started, assuming he had fallen asleep while feeding the kid – all the books warned against that. But if anything, the sound grew louder and he convinced himself he was awake.

"What the hell…"

He didn't move, the kid resting comfortably against his chest and gorging on the bottle, but his ears strained for the noise. There was definitely some kind of aircraft nearby. Maybe because the town was so quiet he could hear it better.

_Why_ was there an aircraft?

In a world where cars were useless, aircraft had to be the ultimate way to get about. The only people who knew how to fly were those rich enough to take lessons…or those taught by the authorities. Lance had an overwhelming dislike of the authorities. They had put him into care in the first place, arrested him when he got into trouble, bothered him when he was only _thinking_ about causing problems. Now they were on his doorstep.

_Stay or go?_

There was no way they could know he was there. The doors had the caved in look from where he had avalanched them open but most of the buildings around here were broken into. There were no lights and no outward signs he was there.

Still, his instinct was to run. He quashed the thought. That was panic talking. If everyone were dead, how would the pilot even know where he was? It was probably a lone survivor trying to find others.

At the thought of company, Lance debated going out to attract attention and decided against it. He didn't want to attract the wrong kind of attention. For the time being, it was safer to remain alone.

The sound of the copter died and he gave a sigh of relief. End of problem. He was too late to get attention, meaning he didn't have to worry what kind of attention he got. The matter was taken out of his hands.

The kid was getting sleepy and Lance took the bottle from his mouth, carefully putting him into the Moses basket beside him. He might not be getting much sleep and this was not the way he had envisioned spending time when he hit eighteen, but the kid gave purpose to his life. With nothing left to do, he might have wandered aimlessly forever but now he had a goal, a resolve. He wasn't much in the daddy stakes, but he was all this kid had and he was determined to be better than his own father had been. The kid was going to need certain skills to get by in a decimated world and Lance was going to give them to him. Even if it did mean another few months of sleepless nights.

He had fallen into a doze when he heard the voices outside.

Lance sat up suddenly, listening hard, unsure if he was dreaming or not. But he was sure he heard voices outside.

"Two scents in here." The voice was deep, almost snarly. "Both live."

"I can sense two brainwaves," said the second voice, higher, female. "This must be where Lance Alvers is."

Lance panicked. They knew his name and where he was. There was no way this could be a good thing. He stood up, checking on the kid, still sleeping. Then he walked to the doors, determined to defend his territory and the kid. Or die trying.

"We don't wanna spook him." The girl again, right outside the door. "Let's just tell him what we're about and where we are, then he can come to us willingly if he wants."

"It'd be better if he came with us," replied the man. "If he has a kid like you say, we've got the best facilities to deal with that."

Lance's overtired brain couldn't make too much of the exchange. All that he knew was that there were people threatening his territory. He rolled his eyes back in his head and let loose an earthquake that would knock them both off their feet and make them think twice about approaching the library.

When the tremors died down he rested his head against the door. Great. Now he was fighting a headache on top of the lack of sleep.

"Has it finished?" The girl's voice, uncertain.

"Yeah." The man. "Set us down."

Lance scowled. His earthquake hadn't put them off – he couldn't reconcile the words "set us down" to his knowledge of the world. Fine. He would reveal himself and show them what he could do. And when they ran away in terror, he would run too and take the kid with him.

Oh, but he was tired and his head ached.

He forced open the warped library door and faced the people outside. Part of him had expected a SWAT team; the type he had always imagined would greet him if anyone discovered his powers. Instead there was a short man with a frown on his face and a tall girl with red hair. Both of them looked at him as if they recognised him.

"Go away." Lance's voice was stronger than he had thought it would be. "Or else I'll bury you!"

"Lance, wait!" The redhead made an imploring gesture. "We want to help you!"

"Help me?" Lance laughed. "Sure you do. Get out of here."

"You have powers," said the redhead. "You can do things that no one else seems able to do. And now everyone else is gone, you don't know what to do! But we're like you, we have powers too!"

Lance snorted. "Sure you do Red. You've got five seconds to get out of here before I bury you."

"Wait. Watch."

The redhead glanced at a bench set beside the library, quite heavy with its steel settings. Before Lance's tired eyes, it began to shudder. He forgot all about his five second warning as he watched the bench. It rose in the air and flew at a nearby wall, the wooden seat dislodging as it hit.

Lance gave her a look of frank wonder. "How did you do that?"

"The same way you make the earth move. I just know how. We mean you no harm, can we please come in and speak to you?"

"Speak to me out here." Lance wasn't sure about what the girl could do but he didn't want to put the kid into danger if he could avoid it.

But if he were killed…the kid would suffer a worse death. Dehydration, starvation.

The man kept his distance but the girl approached him with no qualms. "My name is Jean. Jean Grey."

"So?"

"I have powers too – I'm a telepath. And this is Logan. He has a healing factor. We're – well, we hope to bring survivors together."

"Why?"

The question seemed to surprise her. "Because it's horrible being alone. Because people need people. There are so few survivors that we should all stick together."

"How do I know that you're genuine?" Lance clenched his fists. "How do I know this isn't some plot to get the people with the powers together?"

Jean shook her head. "I guess you'll just have to trust us. We live in the Xavier Institute in New York. We have light and heat and food. There are four of us living there already and we're tracking survivors."

"_How_ are you tracking survivors?"

Jean looked uncomfortable. "The Institute was originally meant for people with powers. The founder, Professor Xavier, thought that if he could train us to better use our powers then we'd be less likely to lose control of them and hurt people and when the normal humans found out about us we'd be safe. The Professor was a telepath and he made a device that allowed him to find other mutants. That's how we found you – I used it to see if I could find other people. You were the first person it found."

Lance ran a hand through his hair and tried to think. Should he trust Jean and Logan, who had yet to say anything to him, or did he tell them to leave and hope they didn't try to force him to go with them?

Inside the library, the kid let out a wail. The 'windy' cry, which meant he was in pain. Lance hesitated, wanting to go and sort it out but not wanting to let these two out of his sight or be holding the kid should a fight break out.

_…Go see to the baby. We'll wait here if you want…_

Lance glanced at Jean. "You said that without moving your mouth."

"I told you, I'm a telepath. Take care of the baby and we'll wait."

"Uh…OK."

Lance went inside and put the kid over his shoulder, vaguely hoping there would be no puke this time. As he rubbed the kids back, he thought about what the pair had said. They _seemed_ genuine enough but Lance had learned the hard way in the past that what people seemed to be and what they were weren't always the same thing.

He wandered over to the door again and peeked out. Jean was talking to Logan in a low voice but Lance could make out that they were having a discussion about car seats.

"You need the newborn seat by the sound."

"I don't think that car seats are meant for use in the Velocity."

"We can rig something up. If Lance does decide to come, we'll need something to transport the baby in."

The conversation actually made Lance feel better. It didn't sound like they were planning to kidnap him if he turned them down and they were thinking about the kid's safety. Maybe he would be doing both of them a favour if he went along. If he didn't like it, he could always leave again.

He walked out of the door, baby still over his shoulder. "There's a baby shop three blocks over. You can get a car seat from there. Make sure it's a good one though."

Jean smiled. "Does that mean you're going to come with us?"

"Just don't try anything funny. And I'll need help to bring the kids stuff."

"I'll go get a seat," said Logan gruffly. "Meet you at the Velocity."

Jean gave him a curious look. "He's so little – how much stuff could he need?"

"Trust me, they need loads of stuff. I never realised until I looked in the book and it…"

"_BWERP!_"

"Thanks kid."

Jean's lips twitched as she tried not to laugh. "You want me to hold the baby while you change your shirt?"

"Uh…" Lance debated the wisdom of letting some stranger hold the kid, then decided it might be a good test. With Logan nowhere in sight, it would be easier to take her down if she tried anything. "Here. You have to keep a hand under his head."

"I know. My sister has two…" A look of pain flashed across her face and she forced the thought away as she took the kid from Lance. "So, does he have a name?"

"Not yet. Couldn't think of anything." Lance had seen the look on her face as she remembered her family and decided not to mention it. "Come inside."

"You've been living in here?" Jean looked around at the library, taking in the set up. "Pretty smart. It's cool in here and light and it's not somewhere looters would think of looking."

"It was an accident really," replied Lance, digging out a brand new T-shirt he had liberated from a shop and pulling off the tags. He pulled off the old one, trying not to get baby puke in his hair. "I needed some help finding out what to do about the kid. There's all kinds of books about it."

"I'd be lost knowing what to do with a baby," admitted Jean, smiling down at the kid and pulling a face at him. "I've always been able to give them back when they do something gross."

"I've never even been this close to one before," admitted Lance, shrugging on the new shirt. "I didn't know they puked so much. This is my fourth change of clothes in twelve hours!"

"Is there a bag or something we can put this stuff in?" Jean looked at the tiny clothes, nappies, bottles, sterilisation units, wipes, talc, cream – her head was beginning to spin. "Is all this stuff necessary?"

"You wouldn't think anything so small could need so much crap, but he does." Lance left Jean holding the kid while he grabbed a sports bag from underneath the true crime shelf and beginning to shove things in it. "What's this Velocity you were talking about before?"

"It's the plane we came in. It belongs to the Institute…what's that?"

Lance looked embarrassed as he strapped the baby carrier to his chest. "It's to carry the kid in. See, I needed to go to shops and stuff but I couldn't use a pram because of all the crap lying around in the street so I got this. Give him here."

Jean passed over the baby, slightly bemused at the sight of the scruffy teen with a baby strapped to his chest. "I'll take the bag. Got everything?"

"Think so." Lance watched as Jean used her powers to levitate the bag in the air. "That's freaky."

"So I've been told."

They left the library, Jean telling Lance about the Xavier Institute, mentioning the generator and their ability to cook and take hot showers – Lance seemed particularly happy to hear about the last one – but not quite sure what to say about Mystique and Todd. She skirted over the issue, telling him about their powers and saying that Todd was "real nice, a bit quiet" and not saying anything about Mystique's personality. She warned him that Logan was "temperamental" and advised him not to get on the mans bad side.

The streets were so _quiet_. In the distance she could hear a dog howling, but had the usual background noise been there – voices, cars, music from out of shops or TV's from out of houses – she wouldn't have been able to. The background noise that she heard within her own head in spite of her shields had dwindled to the muted awareness of Lance and Logan, the latter too far away to know anything except for his presence. It was the first time she had been out of the mansion and Logan had been right – she hadn't realised the true enormity of what the disease had done. The sheer emptiness of the mid-sized town made her nervous so she filled the silence with chatter, trying not to dwell on the noise that should have been there, their footsteps echoing, their voices sounding as sacrilegious as laughter in a morgue. She wondered if Lance thought of her as vapid or silly, in love with the sound of her own voice, but she couldn't stop talking. To be quiet would allow silence to reign and if she had to cope with that for long, she'd go insane. She wondered how Lance had stood living in the dead town, alone save for the kid, for as long as he had.

When they got back to the Velocity, Lance was impressed and more than a little nervous. He'd never been in a plane of any sort before, let alone one fully equipped with weapons. Logan was inside already, struggling to affix a baby seat in the back.

"Hey Logan," said Jean. "How's it going?"

"Putting a baby seat in the Velocity. I've hit a new low." Logan glanced over at Lance and smirked when he saw the baby strapped to his chest. "That's real cute."

Lance refrained from snapping at him and put the kid into the seat. "Is this safe?"

"Yeah, I fixed it."

"Good." Lance strapped the kid in and sat in the seat beside it while Logan and Jean sat in the cockpit and went through the take off preparations.

"We're going to Kentucky first," explained Jean as she flicked on the power. "I picked up another mutant signature from there. Then we need to stop somewhere else – I found a weird reading and we just want to check it out. Then we can go back to the Institute. I hope that…"

"Uh, Jean." Logan indicated to the back of the Velocity. Jean turned to see Lance already asleep, head resting against the window. "I think he'll sleep through Kentucky unless the kid wakes up."

"If the kid wakes up, I'll deal with him," said Jean. "He looks wiped."

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Pietro was bored.

Wanda was still asleep, sprawled on a bale of hay in a barn. There were houses in the area that they could have stayed in, but the first one they had tried…it had been bad. Wanda hexed the door open and the stench had hit them like a live thing, knocking them both back. Pietro had gone rather too quickly and found himself four hundred metres from the house. Wanda had gone green and puked. After that they had decided; no more houses. From now on they would stick to places they could be sure didn't contain any decaying remains.

They'd been sleeping outdoors a lot. Fortunately the weather had been pleasant enough to allow it. The barn was an improvement; the hay surprisingly comfortable and they both felt more secure sleeping within walls, no matter how little protection they gave.

But now Pietro was awake and restless and Wanda showed no sign of waking any time soon.

He glanced out of the barn door, then back over his shoulder at his sister. Part of him thought he should be there when she woke up – she didn't like letting him out of her sight – but he decided he was fast enough to look around, maybe grab something for breakfast and be back before she opened her eyes.

He sped out of the barn and just ran, enjoying being able to use his powers. There was something liberating about speed, the way his mind was free of all the bullshit of everyday existence and his entire focus was on the early morning sun, the breeze he created by running. There was no one to see him, not much to avoid. This was freedom.

They had settled for the night a long way from any major town and the houses were widely spaced. It took Pietro almost three minutes to reach a shop, a convenience store that sold a bit of everything. He pushed at the door and found it unlocked, a definite bonus. And there seemed to be no corpses, which was even better. The only smell in the air was spoiled food. Not pleasant but better than decaying people.

Whistling loudly, he grabbed a basket and began picking through the shelves. Tinned hot dogs, those could be eaten cold – neither he nor Wanda had thought of finding a camping stove. He grabbed several cans off the shelf and continued his search. Deodorant. Hair gel, because you never knew whom you'd run into and it wouldn't do for him to be looking anything less than perfect. Some tins of beans. He checked the bread and found it mouldy, so he left it. Spotting a magazine rack nearby, he perused the titles. Wanda might like one of the girlier titles and he could certainly do with a distraction from the taste of cold hot dogs and beans…

A noise behind him made him turn around. His first confused thought was that he was seeing things. But blinking hard didn't make the image go away.

There were people everywhere. Behind the counter, blocking the door, staring at him.

He was trapped.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

_Suicide._

Sam had never entertained the thought before. When he read about people who took their own lives he thought of them as selfish or weak, refusing to believe that their life could be that bad. Suicide was the ultimate cop-out, tearing apart those left behind to pick up the pieces, leaving too many unanswered questions and not giving life the chance to improve.

But there was no one left to mourn him if he died, no way for life to get better. He was all alone in a world of the dead and the thought of waking up day after day and finding that nothing had changed made him weary.

The dreams didn't help. Every time he closed his eyes his family were there, begging him to help them, make them better, do _something_. But he hadn't been able to help them and he was beginning to believe that his only option was joining them.

His parents had never had a gun in the house, believing that it was too dangerous with all the children they had. But there was a shop nearby where he had picked one up, telling himself that it was for protection – but since he got it he had been obsessively loading and unloading it, the thought of suicide never far from his mind. So far it was only a notion, but the thought grew stronger with every passing day.

He was playing with the gun again when he heard the plane. He froze, wondering what the hell was going on. He hadn't heard so much as a car since realising he was all alone in the town and a plane was just…

A plane meant people.

Sam leapt up and headed for the door, wondering if he could attract attention by jumping up and down and waving. Maybe if he could get the altitude – his brothers and sisters hadn't called him 'Rocket Ass' because of what his digestive system produced after beans on toast. Surely the pilot would see a teenager blasting through the air with his ass on fire.

When he went out and looked at the sky, he could _see_ the plane flying low, a military style craft rather than a commercial jet or a private plane. His resolution wavered. He'd heard of planes with autopilot – what if there was no one flying the plane and it was just the computer? What if the reason it was so low was because it had finally run out of fuel and it was about to crash?

He realised he still had the gun in his hand and tightened his grip on it. _Just in case_ he thought. There was no telling if anyone was on the plane and how friendly they were if there was Although the craft could be holding a convention of mass murderers and religious fanatics and he'd still offer them coffee and read all their tracts. He was desperate for company.

As he hesitated on the porch, the plane dipped still further and made a perfect landing in a field over the road from the Guthrie house. Sam remembered a book he had read as a child, about men in the desert who saw mirages and thought they were swimming with pretty ladies in bikinis. His dad had read the book to him and Elizabeth and his sister had laughed…

He slammed the door on that thought and hesitantly made his way over to the craft. The hatch had been lowered, steps leading from the exit to the ground, but Sam saw no one. He could hear them though, voices within the plane having some sort of argument.

"Just hold him for a moment."

"No way darlin. Not gonna happen."

"I can't go outside with him!"

"So wake up the Richter Scale back there. It's his kid."

"It's not his kid, he just found it. Besides. He looks like he hasn't slept in days."

"That's what happens when you have kids. I'll talk to the boy."

"But you're, uh, not the best person to do that."

"No way am I holding…"

"Logan!"

"Oh fine. But don't blame me if I break it."

Sam frowned. On the few occasions he had wondered about meeting other people, he hadn't expected them to arrive by plane and have an unfathomable argument.

"Uh…hello?" He called up to the plane and the voices went momentarily quiet. He waited for a moment and then a teen girl appeared in the exit. She was at least as tall as him with long red hair and a somewhat uncertain smile.

"Uh, hello. You must be Sam."

"Yeah, how did you know?"

"We can talk about it but first, would you mind putting the gun down?"

Sam glanced down and noticed he was still gripping the gun tightly. He threw it aside, figuring she wasn't much of a threat. If she decided to try something, he could blast through her and he was invulnerable while using his powers so anything she did try would be useless.

"Thanks." The girl smiled and floated down to the ground. "I'm Jean Grey."

"Did you just _fly_?"

"Yes." Jean gave him a comforting smile. "I know you have special gifts and I have them too. Before everyone got sick I lived in a place where I could learn to use and control my gifts. We still live there and we thought if we got more people together then we could be…well, less alone."

"Where is this place?"

"Bayville, New York."

"That far away? But…my family…"

"Your family? Is some one still alive?"

Sam looked at the floor and shook his head. "No. They all…they're all gone. But I can't just leave them here."

Jean stepped forward and took his hand. "Sam, I know it's hard. I don't know where my parents are, if they're alive or not. The people at the Institute were my surrogate family and I buried them in the garden. Every time I think about it I don't know if I want to hide or cry or find God and slap his face for taking them from me. I'm mad at them for leaving me alone to cope without them. But I _have_ been left to go on without them and I have to find a way to keep going. So do you. And the hardest thing is being alone. Not just living alone or being in a strange town where you don't know anyone but physically being alone and knowing you may never see the face of another living person. That's why we're finding survivors and trying to get them together, partly for their sanity and partly for ours. I was left alone for just a couple of days and I thought I was losing my mind. I can't make you come with us. If you want to stay here then I'll leave you the address of the Institute and we'll be out of here. You can find us later on or you can pretend we were never here. But if you want to try for some semblance of normality, as much as we can get from the world after what's happened, then come with us. I don't promise that we'll all get on, that we'll be a big happy family, but it's better to try that than to be left all alone again."

Sam met her eyes. They seemed sincere. He still had some misgivings – how had she found him and how did she know his name? – but he pushed them aside. She was the first person he had seen since Josh, the last of his siblings, died. He had seemed to be getting better right up to the moment where he stopped breathing. He had been going slowly out of his mind left alone, the memory of his family haunting him, the only things he could think of recrimination and suicide. Maybe this wasn't the smart thing to do but it offered him some hope of reprieve.

"I'll need to get some stuff."

"I know." Jean smiled and patted his shoulder. "Would you like some help?"

"Nah. I won't be long. There are clothes shops in Bayville, right?"

"Uh, sure."

"Then all I need is a few personal things."

"I'll wait right here for you. Take as long as you need. Then I can introduce you to Logan and Lance…maybe not Lance, he's still asleep. We've one more stop to make before Bayville but I don't think we'll take long."

"Sure." Sam headed back toward the only home he had ever known, realising he may never see it again. A part of him wanted to spend some time going through the rooms, trying to memorise every detail so he could remember it properly. The more sensible part of him knew that what had made this place his home was his family and now they were gone it was cold, somewhere to spend the rest of his life getting lonelier, sadder, more and more depressed. Except that now he didn't, because he had been given a reprieve.

His momma kept the photo albums in a box in the hall closet and from time to time the Guthrie children would take them out and laugh at their younger selves. Now Sam grabbed the box and put it in the porch, running back only to grab Paige's worn stuffed Garfield and an inexplicable but beautiful red feather he had spied beneath Josh's bed before saying silent goodbyes to the homestead and leaving for an unknown future in Bayville.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

X23 was on the move.

Much as she had enjoyed lazing around doing nothing, there was only so long one could look at the clouds. She was hungry, thirsty and well rested. The only thing to do now was to forage. There were creatures in the trees that could make a meal for her but she ignored them – she wasn't an _animal_ after all.

Risman had talked about shops on occasion, when Madame Hydra hadn't been around to hear. Shops were where things came from. You could exchange cash for anything from clothes to food to…well, _anything_.

She wasn't sure what cash was but if she could find a shop maybe she could find out. Shops were buildings like the Hydra facility. On one of her training missions when she had been ordered to blend in with other children, Risman had taken her into a shop and bought her a chocolate bar on the strict understanding that she told no one else about it. The guards with them had chosen to look the other way, neither of them begrudging a little girl something so simple. So she knew pretty much what she was looking for and was aware from what the doctor had said before she died that there were few people around any more. Maybe she could go into a shop and just take what she wanted without having to worry about the whole 'cash' thing. And if there was some one around to complain – well, she didn't have to _hurt_ anyone. She could be in and out without doing anyone any harm. All she needed was something to eat and some water.

She had been deep in the woods and it was some miles before she got back to a beaten track, several more miles before she arrived at a shop. When the Velocity arrived at where she had been, she was long gone.

"I _knew_ I screwed up," said Jean in disgust as she scanned the area telepathically.

Logan said nothing. There _had_ been a person in the area not long before, but the scent was indistinct, faded. He could track it…but that would mean explaining to Jean that he knew someone had been there and they had two unknown kids in the Velocity, three of you counted the baby. They had no idea who it was who had been there and where they had gone. Maybe it was best to ignore the scent and get back to the mansion.

Beside, Mystique and Todd had been alone long enough.


	15. New Home, New Family

Thanks to:

Todd Fan – I don't actually know much about Josh, but research turned up more about him and I thought I might like his character if I hadn't already killed him off, so I put that in there.

Ciardra – I've been updating like mad the last couple of weeks, lots of ideas to get through! But the rate is going to slow down from now on, because ideas or not I still should be studying (boo!). The mansion is due for new recruits, some of which have been mentioned and some I haven't! The best part about winging the fic is that I can just add stuff without it upsetting my plot (and that they've now shown all the series of Evo – I wrote a fic last year and they showed series 4 as I wrote it and I realised they totally screwed up my ending in one episode! Good episode though, I guess I can forgive). X23 will have more storyline later on and Wanda and Pietro have time here – well, Pietro does, and Rogue and Remy back next chapter!

Ishandahalf – Pietro stikes me as the type to look immaculate even if there's no one around to see him, I figured it was an amusing personality trait to exploit! Everyone's coming together in the next few chapters! Well, almost…

Sangofanatic – The Remy/Rogue not plotted yet, but there's a reason for that as you'll see here. They will turn up in the next chapter! Mystique hasn't forgotten her foster daughter but she'll have something a little more _immediate_ to think about here!

Rogue14 – In my experience, babies have the worst timing in the world! Lance meets a girl of his age still alive and he's now covered in puke. Typical! Sinister has a plan which is going to take some time to evolve. I don't write pro or anti songs of any politics coz it all strikes me as bullshit and I have no really strong beliefs in any direction aside from that. I can say that politicians are full of shit and I'm not gonna vote May 5th, but I can't put it into lyrics.

LadyEvils – Lance as Daddy was something that just happened and I think he did OK! Although he's not leaving it behind just because he's at the Institute. Sam's brother Josh was a mutant with red wings and a healing factor of his own, although I didn't find that out until I got him sick, so I stuck with that. I got the X23 history partly from the cartoon and partly from the comics, there's now a mini-series about her origins out. Lance and Todd about to be united, I would have liked to see the Brotherhood's meetings in the same way as some of the X-Men's were handled. Maybe one day I'll write a story about it…

Minnaloushe – A day after leaving you what has to be my longest review ever! Worth it though, it was a damn good chapter within a good fic. I don't recall where I ead that you don't need telepathy to work Cerebro, although in this fic I use the premise that you do, I think it was in a comic and then reinforced by Mystique wanting Cerebro thinking she'd be able to track mutants with it. If 'Lost' comes on over here I'll definitely check it out, sounds cool! The boy who burned was actually supposed to be Rusty Collins, a comic book character I chose at random although I knew his powers were comparable with Pyro's and there was a scene in a comic when he was sick and he'd set himself on fire. Interesting about the Rogue/ Magneto kid – the one in the AoA was called Charlie after Xavier, but there was another one called Magnus in the Exiles series who wasn't from AoA. Some one at Marvel sure likes Rogue and Magneto together ;) Some out of the US characters right here! I was a bit unsure about Havok because I always thought Hawaii was somewhere in the US and now I know it isn't I'm not right sure where it is! Still, he might pop up because I did plan on it being Sinister's first stop but then changed my mind. I _hate_ those fics where Jean is a cow for no reason! There are so many of them and in a lot of them the characters are spot on save for Jean, who is suddenly a slut/ frigid/ manipulative bag with no reason as to why she is such. I could live with Jean being this way (I dedicated two whole stories to it) but not without good reason. Rant over! Her early incarnation, especially in Strategy X, suggests that she's a normal girl who wants to make people happy but isn't going to be pushed around either and I tried to keep that in mind. It was actually another reviewer (Furygrrl) who suggested the suicide thing and I thought it most likely that Sam would be the one to think it because he was the only one totally alone with no reason to be glad about it. The quick updates may suffer a bit from now until mid-May when I have important exams but they will be at least every ten days, I'm really enjoying writing this fic a lot and it's something of a time out for me!

TheDreamerLady – Having problems reviewing? Glad you said, was feeling a bit unpopular! And I like all reviews, especially long ones! And Juggy? In my other fic (Power9), he sang a Presley song to Amanda's mother and then ran away on a romantic getaway with her not having learned the use of doors. And a touch of Graydon – well, a mention – right here! Tell you something, if I was Jean, I'd have snapped ages ago! But she's got to have the same problems regardless of the Professor, right? Lance as Daddy gets me all "AW" some too! More about Pietro and his problems here! As to a significant other for Sam, haven't considered anyone yet but rest assured, I've been thinking about it since your review and I'm considering a couple of possibles, although nothing is certain. As to Logan not telling Jean what he could smell, I think it's because he knew it could take some time to track down the person and in the neantime Jean would be left with the Velocity and the unknown people within. Better to let one go than to let her get killed, right?

**Author Note: **This is a chapter I'm a bit uncertain about doing. It's a departure. I do like it, the inspiration came while wandering about the supermarket and thinking about the fic, but I'd like to know if I'm making things too complicated or if I'm on the right track. And I want to know what you'd like to see! I can't promise to put in all ideas but I will try to and will put in variations along with credits. Like, whom do you think Jean ends up with (if anyone) or is there anyone not mentioned that you wanna know about? I can't do it all but I'll try my best. In other words, hit the review button and give me your thoughts!

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

"Dah dooby dooby doo…"

Betsy Braddock sauntered into the supermarket, singing cheerfully to herself. A morning expedition to the shops had brought her all kinds of new clothes and she'd stopped off at the swimming baths to do something that was definitely not covered in the by-laws. Brian was going to _freak_ when he saw her hair.

She had never considered that at any point in her life she and her brother would have dragged a couple of mattresses into the local branch of Tesco in order to live there and yet there they were, sleeping in the clothes section and snacking on the biscuits. It had been Brian's idea and had turned out to be surprisingly workable. The superstore hadn't opened one day early on in the epidemic, none of the key holders well enough to leave their beds and inaccessible to the increasingly frantic population due to the steel shutters and supposedly inaccessible staff doors, but once the power had gone out it had been a simple enough task to cut a hole in the shutters and smash the window beneath. Simple enough for Betsy anyway, she sat back and watched Brian do it. There was food, water, practically everything they would ever need and quite a lot of things they didn't. The previous night they had put a tiny dent in the alcohol section, getting ludicrously drunk on a bottle of Jack Daniels. Her brother was still passed out on his bed. She had still felt justified in leaving Raphael with him though – the kid wasn't _her_ responsibility alone after all.

The pair had found Raphael in a newsagent three says previously, living off sweets and crisps. They had no idea where the kid had come from and he couldn't tell them. He had been bright enough to bring some objects from wherever his home was, and Betsy suspected it couldn't be far away, a few things that a toddler might find important. A dummy, a tattered teddy bear, some cars and action figures packed away in a tiny Tweenies rucksack. He'd also brought his potty but not worked out how to empty it himself. Not pleasant. But Betsy had felt for this boy, left all alone and bewildered, able to do enough to keep himself alive but not to help himself in any meaningful way. He had sandy blonde hair and grey-green eyes and when he had seen them he had given them a wide smile rimmed with chocolate but seemed unwilling to go over to them. They hadn't even had to discuss it; Betsy had lured him with a soothing voice and promises of a proper meal and Brian had carried him away with them, not forgetting his toys. There had been a couple of tearful outbursts, asking for his mummy and wanting to go _home_, but aside from that he had settled with his willing but inexperienced new guardians.

Brian had asked the kid his name and the kid had told him it was Raphael. They hadn't thought much of it until they learned the kid was obsessed with Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and the name was some kind of wish fulfilment. They had a stereo that worked off batteries for music – only CD's, there were no radio stations on the air – but neither of them were sure how to make a TV/DVD combi work on batteries so in spite of Raphael's pleas, there were no videos. Instead, they had spent a lot of time role-playing. Betsy was gratified to learn she wasn't half bad at this ninja stuff and Brian had been reading him comic books in an effort to keep the kid entertained. There were also toys and puzzles and cuddly toys. And it could have been worse – if Raphael had been any younger neither of them would have known what to do.

Having Raphael around had helped to distract them from the big picture. Their parents were missing on a business trip and they had to presume they were dead. There had been no communication from the media for ages and the last person they had see alive apart from Raphael had been a middle aged woman collapsed outside a natural health store, clutching a bottle of rosehip and choking on her own blood. Brian had been introverted, coping by concentrating on the details of their predicament – how long the food would last, what they might do in a few years, problems with their health in a world where there was lots of corpses for disease to breed in. Betsy had looked on the bright side and grabbed all the clothes she had ever wanted, books she had been too busy to read, burying herself in inconsequential stuff to distract herself from everything around her. They might live in a supermarket but there were so many other shops out there with better clothes and a bigger selection of shoes. And of course, there was her all time favourite pastime of brother torment to continue. In spite of the heavy drinking session they had indulged in the night before, she didn't feel particularly hung over, maybe it was all the practice she'd been getting into with her friends in the evenings they spent in the park with a bottle of something cheap the past couple of years.

"Wakey wakey Brian!"

Betsy dumped her carrier bags on the floor and subjected herself to a sticky hug from Raphael. He'd been at the sweets again. The trouble with living at the supermarket was that everything was so accessible to him.

Brian poked his head from beneath his blankets and groaned. "Bleedin hell Betsy, what time do you call this?"

"I call it half eleven. It was your turn to give Raph breakfast."

"I will. When I've had a few cans of cola."

"No wonder he's been in the pissing sweets."

"So why didn't you give him breakfast, if you're so bothered about it?"

"Shopping."

"Christ Betsy! What for?"

"Retail therapy. Don't yell."

"There's clothes _here_!"

"Yeah, and that's all well and good for you and Raph. But do they do _these_ here?"

Betsy whipped out a union jack sequined bikini top and waved it in front of her boobs. "I've always wanted one of these but mum kept saying only hookers and strippers wore them so I thought…"

"What the arse have you done to your hair?"

"Oh that." Betsy touched her new locks. "You like?"

"It's very…purple. Or am I still drunk?"

"Yes to both." Betsy pulled a long strand of purple hair in front of her face. "I think it looks great."

"You know, _other_ people dye their hair blonde."

"I'm already blonde and it's a bloody dull colour."

"Thanks very much."

"You could do your hair some other colour Bri," said Betsy, plonking herself on her brother's bed and making it shake, causing him to wince. "I think pillar box red would be so _you_."

Raphael toddled over and grabbed Betsy's hand. "Biscuits!"

Betsy gave the little boy a severe look. "That's not how we ask. What do you say?"

"Biscuits _pweeze_."

"Uh…no. Have something proper."

"Want biscuits!"

"How about mini hot dogs?"

"Yeth pweeze."

"Fine. _I'll _feed him." Betsy gave Brian an evil look. "Just because _some _people around here can't hold their beer. _I'll _give him something proper to eat. You're a big tart Bri."

"Fuck off Bets."

"Fuh KOFF!"

"Well done Brian." Betsy gave Raphael a stern look. "That's a bad word Raph. Let's all smack uncle Bri for saying it."

"No…OW!"

"Never say that again uncle Bri." Betsy smirked and headed off toward the tinned section. The mini hot dogs were running pretty low but they were the boys favourite and she quite liked them herself. The camping stove was kept in the pet food aisle on the assumption that the last things they would eat were there. The camping stove wasn't on sale at the supermarket but they had liberated one from a camping shop.

"Two minutes over a low flame and they'll be ready," she told Raphael cheerfully. She also kept a very loud stereo in that aisle and decided that for optimum brother torment, she should turn it on.

"Bam bam bam bam _bam_!"

"Betsy, turn that bloody thing off!"

"Hangover, so hung over…" Betsy sang as she prepared the mini hot dogs.

"Bets!"

"Call me a doctor, send him over!"

"Turn that down!"

"Something that'll stop my legs from shakin, something that'll stop my head from achin!" Betsy put the food onto a plate and took Raph by the hand in order to lead him over to a table they kept in the lighting aisle.

"Betsy! Will you turn that bloody thing _down_!"

"Hangover, so hung over…"

Reluctantly, Betsy flipped off the stereo although she kept singing the song and bopped over to the lighting aisle, one hand holding the plate of mini hot dogs, the other holding Raphael's hand. She was singing loudly and not paying a lot of attention when she realised something was wrong. Her voice trailed off as her mouth went dry, dropping the hot dogs and barely hearing the plate smash.

"Bets?"

Her hand instinctively clamped down on Raphael's as she saw the guy standing in the aisle, a tall pale guy with a – birthmark? – on his face in the shape of a diamond, just above the bridge of his nose…

_"Betsy?"_

Betsy's eyes opened wide as she saw the man approach, her customary exuberism curtailed by his sudden appearance. How had they not heard him? How had she not _sensed_ him?

Raphael clutched her hand tight and whimpered.

"Elisabeth Braddock." The man seemed to glide rather than walk. "And the boy I can hear must be your brother Brian. And who is this?"

Raphael began to screw up his face, ready for a good tantrum. Betsy kept her hand in his, too afraid to do anything. Ever since she had realised she was different, that she could do things that other people didn't seem able to do, she had been able to read the surface thought s of peoples minds although she didn't like it – it made her feel like the worst sort of voyeur – but sometimes she couldn't help it, catching stray thoughts and random images on occasion that she was unable to prevent and there had never in her experience been a mind that she couldn't examine if she wanted to. She couldn't probe his mind, couldn't even sense where it was. How could he prevent her from doing so unless he had powers too? This was the first time she had met anyone else with powers and they were so much stronger than hers…

"It doesn't matter," continued the man. "He will be useful to me no matter what."

"Betsy! What are you playing at?"

"You…" Betsy swallowed. "You get out of here now before I hurt you."

"_You_ hurt _me_?" The man seemed amused. "You'll do what I tell you to. Trust me on this."

"Gone!" Raphael yanked on her hand. "Want to gone!"

"Go away." Betsy lowered her voice, still hoping she could be in control of the situation.

"I think I'll stay."

Sinister moved toward her and Raphael and she had time to wonder about the little boy and about her brother lying hung over in another part of the supermarket…

"Oh _bollocks_!"

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Pietro glanced around and realised two things at once. The first was that the people surrounding him were kids, maybe twelve or thirteen. The second was that they were all identical.

"What's going on?"

"Uh…" One of the kids moved forward and smiled apologetically. "I was a bit scared. But now I know you're nothing to be scared of – I guess I can be one person again."

Pietro watched as the kid braced himself. All the other kids seemed to _run into_ the boy, making one person and no trace of the hoards that had been surrounding him.

"You…you're a mutant?" Pietro wanted to collapse in disbelief. He had been seriously worried for a moment.

"No." The kid looked hurt. "I can just make copies of myself. I'm not _weird_."

"Right. Good. Fine." Pietro was already making plans to escape the kid. He seemed a little…odd. And he probably preferred his own company.

"My name's Jamie." The boy stuck out his hand and Pietro glanced down at it, not shaking. After a moment Jamie dropped his hand and cleared his throat. "I sure am glad to see another person. I thought I was going to have to spend the rest of my life with only Jamie, Jamie and Jamie to talk to. And Jamie's so _dull_."

"Oh. How…bizarre."

"But now you're here! Do you wanna play scrabble?"

"Not really. I have to go now."

"_Go_?" Jamie began to pout. "But…I've been all alone and I was really glad to see you and everyone I know is dead and…and…"

Pietro sighed as he saw tears well up in Jamie's eyes. "I don't think you coming with us is a good idea."

"Us? There are more people?" Jamie grabbed Pietro's arm. "You have to let me come! I'm going insane all on my own!"

"You're not on your own. You have all those, uh, clones."

"It's not the same as other people – please! Let me come with you!"

"Oh for…" Pietro closed his eyes for a moment, thinking over his options. His first instinct was to speed away – there was no way even an army of weird kids could follow, not if he got back to Wanda and set them off in a different direction.

Wanda was the problem. They hadn't spent much time together really since he had sprung her from the asylum, and in that time they'd had no reason to engage in the typical sibling bickering that went on between brothers and sisters. They had too much to catch up on – well, for him to tell her – too much to rediscover about each other, too many memories that they wanted to hash through. Memories that of course, couldn't involve their father for fear of the cold, alien look that came over her features whenever she thought of him. But in their childhood she had always been able to catch him in a lie, even if the lie was only through omission. She always knew when he was hiding something. She wouldn't always call him on it, but she would shoot him a knowing look that told him that she _knew_ he wasn't telling her something and sooner or later she would find out what it was…

If she had been here there would have been no argument. She would insist on the boy coming with them if that was what he wanted, saying that being alone wasn't the worst thing – knowing you didn't _have_ to be alone but other people didn't want to be with you, didn't want you around, _that_ was the worst thing. She had said as much in the brief outline she had given him of her years between his last sighting of her being taken away and the day he had arrived to break her out.

He didn't want Jamie around, he thought the kid was too weird, but when Wanda found out she would be angry, maybe making them go back for him. It was an argument he could do without, not when things were going so well between them. His sister was the only person he had left in the world and although he wasn't much of a sentimentalist, damned if he was going to lose her again.

"Fine. Come on. Help me carry this stuff."

"Yay!" Jamie grabbed the basket and skipped outside, Pietro following more slowly and wishing his run had taken him in the opposite direction. "We're going to…hey mister, where _are_ we going?"

"Well…first we have to go back and wake up my sister."

"And then?"

"I don't know. We're just walking."

"That's cool. We can play I-spy!"

"No we can't!"

"I spy with my little eye something beginning with C!"

"Jeez, where's your off switch?"

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Sam gaped out of the window as the Velocity flew over the Institute. "You never said this place was a _mansion_. I thought it was some kind of boarding school!"

Jean laughed. "It is, but the building was in the Professor's family for years and he didn't need the space. Made more sense to locate the school here than in some sterile, purpose built place. Nicer too. The Professor wanted to welcome mutants here to learn to control their powers and he thought if it were more homely then they'd feel less…well, they'd miss their real homes less." She trailed off, realising she'd talked herself into an awkward situation.

Logan triggered the release for the hangar and the basketball court slid smoothly back. "Hey Jean, why doncha wake up Daddy and tell him we're here. I am _not_ touching that kid, I can smell him from here."

"Enhanced senses not always an asset then?" Jean grinned at his irritated expression and waited until they had landed to get out of her seat and make her way into the back. The journey hadn't disturbed Lance at all, still sleeping in the same position as when they had left Illinois, mouth slightly open and his breathing slow and regular. She shook his arm, feeling a bit guilty for waking him.

"Whuh?" Lance blinked slightly. "OK, got a bottle right here…"

"I don't want a bottle Lance," said Jean, slightly amused. "We're at the Institute."

"Huh?" Lance struggled his way to wakefulness, Jean's face swimming into sight. "Oh, it's you. We're here?"

"Yeah."

Lance stretched out in the uncomfortable seat, rubbing his neck and cursing under his breath. "Where's the kid?"

"He's OK. Sleeping now. He woke up but Sam took care of him."

"Sam?" Lance turned around and saw the blonde boy sat across the aisle. "Where did he come from?"

"Uh, they picked me up in Kentucky," replied Sam, slightly uncomfortable. Jean had made him feel welcome but Logan had been surly all the way home and Lance was an unknown quantity.

"Kentucky?" Lance kept attempting to massage some feeling into his neck and shoulder area, still trying to shake the cobwebs. "When were we in Kentucky? How long was I sleeping?"

"Long enough." Jean indicated to the window of the Velocity. "We're in the Institute. Is your neck sore?"

"Just the way I was sleeping." Lance grinned, eyebrows raised. "Nothing a massage couldn't cure, if you know anyone up for the job."

A growl from the front of the Velocity made them both turn their attention to Logan. "I'm gonna go find Mystique. I need some fresh air anyway."

"Enhanced senses," Jean reminded them, pointing to the kid. "Come on, I'll show you around, find you a room each and you can settle in."

"Right." Lance got out of his seat, relishing the idea of a shower. He disturbed the kid as he took him out of the seat but that at least was a distraction. He didn't know what would happen to them now they were here. It seemed likely that this Sam kid was a mutant too and that he was here of his own free will – but did that mean that Jean and Logan could be trusted or just that they had both fallen for the same bullshit story?

Logan was already off the Velocity and walking out of the hangar. Slightly put out, Jean rolled her eyes. "You'll get used to him. He's a bit grouchy but he means well. Anyway! Let me show you around, let me meet Todd. I hope he's been alright with only Raven around. She's not exactly friendly."

"Great." Lance glanced sourly around the hangar. "Let's get this over with, shall we?"

Jean led the way out of the hangar, wanting nothing more than to get the hell into her own room and lock the door for a while. Being the cheerful one was _hard_.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Mystique was in Charles's study, casually reading through some papers when Logan walked in. She glanced up, feigning disinterest. "Back so soon?"

"Find what you were looking for?"

"Nothing of use to me now." Mystique tossed the papers onto the desk she was sat on, the table having no accompanying chair due to Charles's wheelchair. "Did you bring anyone back?"

"Two teenage boys." Logan folded his arms and leant against the doorframe. "And a baby."

"Oh _good_. Three boys to one girl. That's going to make for some interesting scenarios."

The same thought had already crossed Logan's mind. "I doubt that's an issue for any of them at the moment. We'll find more people."

"If Jean's back, then she can start scanning on Cerebro now."

"No." Logan scowled. "She's not a machine. She needs to sleep and we should spend some time getting these kids used to the place before we take off again."

"That could take days."

"I don't care."

Mystique crossed her legs and swung them back and forth. ""You're certainly concerned about Miss Grey…"

"Don't even think about saying it Mystique."

"I wasn't thinking about saying anything." Mystique smirked, revealing the lie, but the tension was coming off her in waves. "So when Jean's rested she can search specific areas?"

"I don't know. I guess. You want her to search Mississippi?"

"Among other places."

"Other places?" Logan walked toward the desk. "Like where? This isn't some excuse for you to have a reunion with your underworld pals. Why are you so worried about Irene anyway? She might be blind but she can look after herself."

"It's not Irene I'm worried about." Mystique picked up a paperweight, turning it over in her hands, seemingly distracted by the object. "I have children."

Logan wondered if he'd heard her right. "What?"

"Two of my own, two adopted. Graydon's old enough to be on his own – I'm not worried about _him_."

Her voice was dismissive and Logan wondered about it. There was some history there that she didn't want to discuss and she certainly didn't seem too worried about him – it bore the marks of a bitter falling out. Mystique certainly wasn't the maternal type and in spite of the concern she had shown since the disease had hit, it didn't erase his memories of her being the coldest bitch he'd ever met.

"Then there's Kurt. He's in Germany. I don't know if Cerebro can track him there. He's about the same age as Todd and he looks – he doesn't look like the humans. He can't blend into the crowd."

"Not a shapeshifter?"

"No. But there is a certain family resemblance."

"He's _blue_?" Logan ran his hand through his hair when Mystique nodded. That was bad. Some one who looked different in a world where the majority had died was not going to be welcomed with open arms. Nor was there going to be an outcry if he was seen by the wrong person and something bad happened.

"And I have two adopted daughters. Gloria in Washington – she's not a mutant. And Rogue in Mississippi, living with Irene."

"Rogue?"

"It's a long story."

"And it's this Rogue you're most concerned about. Why?"

"She's destined to have certain…abilities. We thought it safest not to tell her until they manifested."

"So now you're worried that she could be running around with these powers causing havoc – what _are_ these powers?"

Mystique shifted her weight on the table. "She can absorb the powers and memories of a person through touch."

"I don't see how that can be a problem right now."

"If she meets another survivor?"

Logan winced. "You think she might absorb them. Truth Mystique, how bad could it be?"

"Very bad. Destiny saw her unable to control her powers. She can't touch anyone, not without absorbing them. The slightest touch could leave the victim unconscious. Prolonged touch could be – more unpleasant."

"I can see why you'd choose to adopt her," said Logan. "Use the kid to knock out your enemies and retrieve information at the same time. Sneaky."

Mystique's eyes flashed for a moment as she considered defending herself, then her shoulders sagged. "That was the idea. But she's a teenage girl. She's been in isolation for five years, awaiting the advent of her powers. She has no idea that she even has them, that mutants exist, that Irene has powers. No matter what's happened she'll be scared, alone and if her powers have manifested it could be disastrous."

Logan gave Raven a look of undisguised contempt. "You play with peoples lives like they were pawns on a chessboard, you even pick them out for your twisted ideals before they can make a choice of their own. You're disgusting." He turned his back on her as he walked to the door. "I'll ask Jean if she can use Cerebro now, go after anyone she picks up on my own. That's always assuming she's able. And assuming she picks up any signals from Mississippi – I'm not going to tell her about this, I'm not putting responsibility for your fuck-up on her head. And if she _does_ find something and I go after it, you don't ask _anything_ of _any _of those kids. If I come back and find out that you did, I'm putting a claw straight through Cerebro and you can try finding your kids the old fashioned way."

He stormed out of the study and found the others in the kitchen. Lance had changed the kid at some point and was trying to interest him in a brightly coloured rattle. Jean was pulling sodas out of the fridge and Todd had joined them and was making small talk with a slightly bemused Sam, who had never encountered anyone like Todd before.

"Change of plan," snarled Logan, slamming the door behind him. "Sorry 'bout this Red, gonna need you to use Cerebro again. I'll go after the survivors if we find any, you can stay here. Turns out there might be some people alive in various locations and it's a good idea if we find them sooner rather than later."

"Oh. OK." Jean put her soda down on the kitchen table and forced a smile.

"If you don't feel up to it that's OK, I understand."

"No, the least I can do is try, if you don't want me to go after anyone. It'll only take a moment."

Lance waved the rattle above the kid, watching the scene. Logan was pissed about something, that much was obvious, although he was trying to hide it in his voice it showed in the tense stance he held. Jean didn't want to use this Cerebro, whatever it might be, but she wanted to be helpful. And Logan wasn't happy about her using it either. What the hell did this Cerebro do?

Before Jean could leave the kitchen, a siren sounded deeper in the Institute. Startled, they all looked around, the kid beginning to whimper at the noise.

"What the hell's that?" asked Sam.

Logan narrowed his eyes. "Follow me, all of you. Bring the kid."

Lance grabbed the kid and they raced off to the Danger Room, Lance and Sam seeing for the first time how big the mansion was from the inside and how alternately opulent and high-Tec it was. Neither of them had ever seen anything like it and wanted to stop and examine their surroundings, but the siren hit a cerebral nerve, forcing them to be more alert to possible danger.

When they arrived in the control room of the Danger Room, Mystique was already there checking out the security cameras. Lance and Sam both gaped – they couldn't help it. It was one thing to hear about a shapeshifter, another to see her in the blue flesh.

"We've got trouble," she said sharply.

"Really? I thought those alarms were a good thing." Logan hurried over to the screens and glanced down. "Who the hell is _that_?"

"You don't know? Looks like Charles had his secrets from you after all."

"Facial recognition matched to archive files," droned the computer. "Name, Cain Marko."

"Cain Marko?" Logan looked blank.

Jean leant over his shoulder and gasped. "He just ripped off the gates with his bare hands!"

Lance, Sam and Todd exchanged nervous looks and went over to the screens, craning for a better look. Todd leapt onto the back of Mystique's chair. "That guy is huge yo."

An elbow to the face dislodged him. Mystique turned to face Logan, face unreadable. "Cain Marko is Charles Xavier's half-brother. He was imprisoned in Stoke County maximum-security facility. There was no indication he had powers until he was in his twenties. After that he became a Juggernaut, incredibly strong and impervious to everything thrown at him…"

"They subdued him somehow, long enough to imprison him." Logan stood, aware of Marko's progress toward the doors of the mansion. "Jean, Lance, Sam, Todd, you're with me. We have to stop this guy from destroying the place. Mystique, you stay here. If worst comes to worst, you get the kid out of here."

"Right." Jean didn't say what was on her mind – Todd, Lance and Sam were unknown, they had no idea if the three would be of any use to them and no experience of working as a team. And if they failed, would Mystique even try to save the kid or would she be away without a thought to the helpless child that had been left in her care?

Maybe they could reason with the man. After all, he was the Professors brother, how different could they be? And then she thought about his previous location in a jail and knew that he would only be there if the Professor had given up all hope, and the Professor didn't give up easily.

And that was assuming the others would consider helping at all. They had come to the Institute in the hopes of company, a better life than the one they might spend alone, some security in an uncertain world and now there was a super-strong madman at their door. Maybe they didn't want to help.

Todd looked uncertain. Sam was confused. But Lance had weighed up the situation quickly and had a look on his face almost as menacing as Logan's.

"Let's go."


	16. Unwanted Visitors

**Author note: **Thanks to everyone who reviewed! I'm having major computer problems at the moment, it's taken me days to get this bloody chapter up and I owe apologies to everyone I owe mails to. As a result of the laptop going tits up, this is gonna be the last chapter until my new computer arrives or I can do something with this piece of shit! It might take a couple of weeks but bear with me, I'll be back! And the next chapter will have the proper thanks to the reviews too - every time I try to type the screen goes black!

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Logan was the first through the doors, facing up to a man who outweighed him by several hundred pounds. Cain Marko was _huge_. But Logan had rarely fought anyone who wasn't taller or heavier than him and he wasn't going to back away.

"Back off _bub_."

Cain laughed. "My brother sent some puny weakling to stop me? No one can stop me!"

"Charles is dead."

"You think I'm gonna fall for that? As if." Cain snorted and advanced menacingly. "Get out of my way little man."

Logan flew at him with a snarl, claws extended. As the four teens ran out of the mansion, they saw Cain casually snatch Logan out of the air by the scruff of his neck and throw him aside before continuing forward.

Lance set of an earth tremor, knocking Cain off balance and forcing him to stop. Jean attempted to get in his mind to telepathically force him to stop his rampage – and paused as she found the task impossible. There was something blocking her powers. Frowning, she looked up and saw the helmet he wore. That had to be what was stopping her from entering his head. And if he were vulnerable to telepathy, it would explain how he could be subdued long enough to imprison him and how Charles had been able to do it. Which gave them a way to stop him.

Always assuming they could get his helmet off.

_…I think I can stop him but we need to get his helmet off…_

The others glanced up in the air, as she had found people tended to do when unused to being spoken to telepathically. Sam nodded and blasted his way over to Cain, still off balance from the earth tremor, and knocked him off his feet. He managed to undo one clasp before Cain grabbed his shirt and threw him to one side. Sam tried to blast, knowing he was invulnerable when he did so, bouncing off the ground and leaving a large hole. As Cain got up, Todd bounded onto his back and managed another one before being similarly treated. Lighter than Sam and never invulnerable, he went further and landed in a crumpled heap.

Logan got back to his feet and leapt on Cain, reaching for the clasp but not able to get it. Lance set off another earth tremor to knock him off balance but this time Cain was wise to the trick and managed to snatch Logan off him and hurl him at Lance. Startled, Lance tried to dodge but was to slow to avoid being hit by four hundred pounds of adamantium-laced flying Canuck. They both fell down in a tangle of arms and legs.

"Marko, the Professor is dead!" shouted Jean. "There's no reason to fight us. We're trying to band survivors together. You could help us!"

"I know he's not dead," snarled Cain. "And if I have to rip this place apart to find him, I will do!"

"No you won't!" Jean concentrated on Cain's helmet and the third clasp popped open, the helmet flying into the air seemingly of its own accord. Cain reached out to catch it but missed. Telekinetically, Jean flung the helmet as far away as she could and sent Cain her memories of the days in the Institute since the disease had hit.

The Professor lay prone in bed, Storm screwing with the weather, Scott blasting holes in the roof and asking for his long-dead brother, the moment she had gone into the Professor's room to ask his help and found that he wasn't breathing…

"_Get out of my head_!" Cain grabbed his head in his hands and closed his eyes. "I know you're making it up. Charles is still alive and he's _still_ afraid to face me! Well I'm going to _make_ him and _you can't stop me_!"

He advanced, closing in on Jean with anger on his face. She took a few steps back but he wasn't about to stop, his fists already bunched to do her some serious damage.

_Oh shit, what am I going to do?_

She focused her telepathy, knowing that it was the only thing left that could save her now. Not having much experience, she tried to envision her powers as a bludgeon, determined to stop him before he could get in the mansion or hurt her or the others any more. She lashed out at him with the full force of her mind.

Cain stopped, a look of surprise on his face. He grunted once, his hands twitching up toward his face, then he fell forward. He didn't try to brace his fall, his face meeting the ground with an audible crack.

Jean covered her mouth with her hand, taking a step toward him but too afraid to reach out and touch him, make sure he was alright. The grounds of the mansion suddenly seemed too quiet, the daylight too harsh. For long seconds she was aware of no one but herself and Cain.

Lance struggled out from beneath Logan. "Jeez, you weigh a ton. Ever hear of slim-fast?"

"Shut up." Logan sat up and cricked his neck from side to side. He had the feeling that he wouldn't be getting up so quickly without Lance to break his landing. He'd been thrown pretty hard. He glanced around for Cain and spotted him fallen on the floor, Jean standing above him looking horrified.

"Jean?"

"I…I didn't mean to do it." Jean looked over at him, her eyes wide with fear. "I didn't think this would happen!"

Logan walked over to her, wondering exactly how she had managed to fell the man. "It's OK Jean. You stopped him, that's good…"

"No it _isn't_!" Jean looked down at Cain again. "He's…I hit him too hard. I didn't know this would happen!"

"He'll be fine. He'll be up and about and trying to smash through the walls in no time…"

"No he won't."

Logan crouched over Cain and took his pulse. It was unusually slow but seemed strong enough. "He's still alive Jean. He'll get over it."

"You stopped him cold," said Lance admiringly.

"You don't understand!" Jean ran a shaking hand through her hair. "There's nothing in his mind! I hit him with my telepathy, I was trying to knock him out, but I must have used too much – I _panicked_! And I can't sense _anything_ in his mind, I can't hear his thoughts – it's like he's not there!"

"You're upset," said Logan calmly. "There'll be something going on in there. It might just take a few hours before he comes around."

"Whoa." Todd hopped over, rubbing the back of his head. "I need an aspirin. Is he dead?"

"He isn't dead," said Logan with a warning look in Todd's direction. "Where's Sam?"

"Halfway to Jersey by now," said Todd. "He couldn't stop blasting, went straight through a wall and bounced away."

"That's jut great." Logan glared down at Cain. "OK, Lance, Todd, help me move him."

"Move him where?" asked Lance.

"Med bay."

"_Med bay_?" Todd jumped up, panic spreading across his face. "You want him to stay _here_? Where _we_ are?"

"Is that even safe?" Lance glanced over to the building. "I mean, with the kid here? He might not be happy when he wakes up."

"I don't think he'll wake up any time soon," said Jean quietly.

"We _might_ be able to talk some sense into him," said Logan. "And Jean can stop him if we can't. There'll be alarms, surveillance – if he so much as sneezes, we'll know about it."

Sam wandered back through the smashed gates, looking dazed. "Did we stop him?"

"Jean stopped him," said Lance.

"Sam, you come over and help us get him in the med bay. No arguments." Logan glared at them, daring some one to object. "Jean, go get some rest or something."

"But Cerebro…"

"It'll wait."

"Go on." Todd hopped over to her and stood up, looking even smaller and grubbier in comparison. "You said using your telepathy wasn't easy and you've been halfway round the country before that. We'll deal with ugly."

Jean opened her mouth to object – she hated being treated like the weaker sex – but decided to leave it. She had put him down and out after all. She just had to hope it wasn't permanent. Let them do some work. Instead she sighed and walked back into the mansion, not bothering to go see Mystique but going directly up the stairs.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Rogue wandered through the park, wondering why her life had to be so complicated. Everyone was dead except for some weird Cajun with freaky powers who thought she was a psycho, her adoptive mother had left her a note to be read after her death stating that Rogue had been adopted because she too was due to come into powers, uncontrollably sucking the life and memories out of anyone she touched and now she had precognition as well.

Life sucked.

The early evening sky threatened rain and Rogue had no coat but right then she didn't care if she got drenched. It would be ironic if she were to survive some global disease only to die of the flu. But she didn't see that happening.

She hadn't finished reading the letter. Had Irene known that she would run, discard the letter and try to run from what it had to say? Just how far did this precognition go anyway?

Ahead of her, the playground loomed. In the half-light it seemed ominous, deserted now of all the children that would normally be there in spite of the threatening sky. At one time she had been able to come here and watch small kids climbing on the climbing frame, older kids seeing how fast they could get the roundabout to spin and later on in the evening, teenagers sharing a bottle of cider, a cigarette or an illicit joint. There was graffiti scrawled on the metal in magic marker, names, dates, proclamations of love and hate. Written by people who were almost certainly dead.

The vision was upon her before she had time to brace herself.

_A shape lying in the long grass, almost hidden in the lengthening shadows. Beyond that a man, dishevelled and skinny, sprawled across the tarmac of the playground viewed not from where she was now but from the other side, another angle. Rain began to come down but neither figure moved and in the background she could hear some one screaming…_

"Shit!" Rogue forced the vision away with an enormous effort. What the hell had that been? The future? And if it was, _when_ in the future? She had seen something else when she and Remy had eaten – did seeing that before this mean that the first vision would happen before the second or not? Would either of them happen?

This damn precognition was driving her mad. But not as mad as knowing she might never touch another person. She wasn't exactly the touchy-feely type but touch was something that everyone took for granted. Brushing past a stranger in the street, dancing close to a cute boy, ruffling some kids hair, linking arms with a friend – all off limits without something blocking their flesh. And there was the future to think about too. She had never thought much about kids, reasoning that she was too young and had too much to do with her life to bother about the subject, but all of a sudden the option had been taken from her and now it played on her mind. She would never have a boyfriend, a family of her own; never feel the skin of some one she loved against hers. All the talks she had been involved with in school bathrooms about when the giggling girls would be Doing It seemed like a cruel, infantile joke. She would never be Doing It.

A sudden wave of anger washed over her. If Irene had told her about her powers sooner, maybe she could have done something about it. She could have gotten in her partying young like so many of her wilder classmates had, experienced touching, kissing, maybe even Done It, had a kid before it was too late for her and her powers had manifested…

Yeah right. And maybe she would have hated motherhood at such a young age or maybe she could have watched the kid choke to death on its own blood when it came down with the disease or maybe she would have been left in a world full of dead people with a child to worry about as well as suddenly finding herself untouchable.

Maybes didn't help her now. The situation was what it was. The past was the past and couldn't be changed and the future was…

A hand grabbed her upper arm and squeezed.

"Look what I found!"

She shrieked and turned around, unable to make out the mans face in the gloom. All she could make out was that he was taller than her, skinny with short hair. And he smelled bad, the layer of deodorant not able to mask the smell of stale BO. She hadn't been able to shower either but she had done her best with cold water and baby wipes.

"Whoo, a girl!" A second man crashed through the trees and she wondered how she hadn't heard them before. True she had been deep in thought but still she should have heard them talking, walking, _something._

"Haven't seen a live girl for days." The man who had her arm stuck his tongue out and wiggled it suggestively. "Wanna party?"

_Oh God!_

She yanked her arm away, his grip slipping from her arm but catching the sleeve of her shirt. She pulled harder, the fabric tearing and leaving her shirtsleeve hanging. Free, she began to run across the playground, dodging the swings and praying that they wouldn't chase her…

_BANG!_

The gunshot startled her, hearing the bullet hit the metal frame of the swing set. She redoubled her efforts, thinking that if she could get away from the open playground she might be able to lose herself in the trees, maybe double back and get back to Remy.

"She's getting away!"

Rogue felt her heart speed up as she got to the far end of the playground and put her foot on the grass. Just another minute and she might have a chance of escape…

_BANG!_

The grass to her right exploded, throwing up turf and mud and she screamed, instinctively veering to one side. Her right foot hit the back of her left and before she could right herself, she was falling.

It's all over… 

The fall knocked the wind out of her but she tried to ignore it, scrambling back up to her knees – but before she could get up she was grabbed by her hair and dragged to her feet. She struggled, trying to free herself from the grip.

"Don't fight babe." Smelly Guy had her and he sounded almost hurt. "We're gonna have some fun. You'll _love_ it!"

"_NO_! Leave me _alone_!"

"You're pretty." The other guy approached her and grinned, his face close to hers. "Always thought with our luck, any girl we found would be a pig. Looks like we were wrong!"

"You don't wanna touch me." Rogue ignored the pain in her scalp and tried to pull away again. The second guy caught her wrist, covered by the undamaged sleeve of her shirt, and put his face even closer.

"Fight, if you like. I like a girl to _move_!"

Rogue's fear suddenly evaporated. These guys weren't so tough, not if it took two of them to terrorise a lone teen in a ravaged world. They may have thought they could do what they liked with no consequences – but she was going to prove them wrong.

"You fucking _bastard_!"

She jerked her head forward, knowing she didn't have enough movement for a head butt but hoping for just enough to touch…

Her forehead brushed against his.

He went rigid, his eyes widening. For several seconds they remained in that position, a grotesque parody of two people sharing an affectionate moment, then he sank to the ground unconscious.

Rogue squeezed her eyes closed, trying to bury the sudden rush of information that had entered her head.

He'd gone over to see Ricky, the damn tosspot owed him twenty bucks and he was broke for another three days. Ricky's door had been open and he walked in on a scene from a horror film. Ricky lay on the floor, his face coated in blood, his slutty girlfriend in the bathroom, dead, her head resting on the toilet and the bowl stained with rust, urine and blood. He'd left in a hurry, suddenly realising how long it had been since he'd seen any of his cronies and not knowing what to do…

"What did you _do _to him?" Smelly Guy loosened his grip on her hair and Rogue took the chance to stagger a few steps away, toward the playground, too dazed and confused to do more than make a perfunctory attempt at escape.

"Oh no, you're going nowhere!" Smelly Guy took three steps after her and grabbed her covered wrist. "Just because he can't take the excitement don't mean that _we_ can't have a good time!"

"You leave me alone _Buddy_."

Smelly Guy's smile faded as he heard his name and he tightened his grip on Rogue. "Listen bitch, you shut your mouth and open your legs and _maybe_ you'll leave here with your teeth. _Maybe_."

"Screw you, needle dick." Rogue warmed to her subject. "You think you're such a big tough man, grabbing me, trying to intimidate me. You wouldn't have dared do something like this if there were still cops around 'cause you're a chicken shit _bastard_ and you can't get it up without a little _violence_, make sure you feel like you're the boss because you're so damn scared of women…"

_"Shut your fucking mouth bitch!" _Buddy squeezed her hand until she felt the bones grind, sticking his free hand up her shirt and under her bra, grabbing her left breast and gripping it cruelly…

The feeling was almost electrical. His eyes grew large, his body going rigid as she absorbed his life force. His hand clamped down and Rogue screamed, trying to shove him backward, but the bra was underwired and a snug fit and his hand remained trapped beneath it.

Everyone was dead. No more seventeen year old girlfriend too damn afraid of his fists to complain, no more drinking pals, no more nothing. He'd taken to the road in a stolen Jaguar, meeting up with Tom on his way and finding out they had plenty in common. Circumstances had forced them into lives that were less than satisfying but the disease had provided them with new opportunities. They didn't have to struggle for what they wanted anymore. Money, cars, gadgets, it was all theirs for the taking. And if they found a woman, so much the better. She could hardly go crying to the cops after all and everyone knew that the bitches loved that kind of thing. For all their talk about liberation and equality they were all the same, sluts who needed manners banged into them…

Rogue screamed in disgust, grabbing Buddy's arm and pushing it downward and out of her bra. He toppled over backward, sprawled on the tarmac, no longer a threat to anyone.

She stumbled away, not knowing what to do. Those guys had wanted to _rape_ her and now their memories, all that made them what they were, had been trapped within her head.

Something made her turn as she left. The shape of Tom was slumped in the grass, barely able to be seen in the darkening day. Buddy was on the playground, sprawled out over the concrete. As she took in the scene the rain began to come down, heavily. Within seconds she was soaked but she barely noticed. The plateau in front of her was the one she had seen in her vision.

She was the one that was screaming.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

The room would have been perfect if not for the hole in the floor.

Lance glanced down at the gap and wondered. The mansion had been there to house mutants and some of them had destructive powers, but none of the group here at the moment had done that. They would have said.

Having got Cain to the Med bay, Logan had suggested that Todd show them around the mansion and help them find rooms. Todd had tried to show them around but explained that he was still a bit lost, Jean having shown him around only once and he hadn't had much time to go exploring. He referred to the area, rather sarcastically, as 'the boys' wing' and Lance had assumed that it was the best place for him to stay. He didn't want to be accused of anything untoward, not when he had only just got here. He had come to believe that the Institute was exactly what Jean and Logan had said it was, a place for survivors to gather. And there were threats out there – Cain Marko had proved that. He hadn't asked for the kid, hadn't wanted him, but now the kid was his responsibility and he was going to look after him.

Sam had immediately said he wanted the smallest bedroom on the grounds that it was the least likely to be shared. He told Lance that he hadn't had a room to himself since the sixth Guthrie child was born and he was looking forward to it. Lance couldn't imagine having so many siblings. Christmas alone would be financially crippling. He wanted to ask Sam how he hadn't gone insane with so many other people to worry about but hadn't known how. All Sam's siblings and his parents were dead. He didn't want to be the one to rip open his wounds.

He needed a room large enough to house both himself and the kid. He had hoped that finding girls would mean the responsibility would be taken from him but his crash course in baby care meant that Jean did less than he did and Mystique – he didn't trust her around the kid. She had protected him while they fought Cain but when he had walked into the control room afterward he had found her masquerading as _him_, attempting to shut the kid up without trying anything so drastic as finding out what he wanted. She would do for a short-term sitter but he wouldn't trust her with the kid's welfare for longer than an hour or so. At least Jean seemed to care about the kid even if she was a bit clueless.

This room was the perfect size, enough for him to keep most of his clothes on the floor and let a cot in here too, although he planned for the kid to have a separate room as soon as he was sleeping through the night. But there was a big damn hole in the floor and Lance wondered how it had got there. This room hadn't been used for a while and that meant the damage had to come from below.

The kid carried over his shoulder; he went down a level and tried to work out where the room below was. He narrowed it down and walked through a door that seemed pretty close…

And caught Jean sat on the bed.

"Oh, uh, sorry, didn't realise anyone was here." Lance began to back out of the room.

"It's OK Lance. Come in." Jean sounded tired and sad and Lance thought he ought to see what was going on. Part of it was genuine concern, another part was curiosity. What had happened in this building before he arrived?

"I thought this wing was for boys," said Lance, realising the kid was beginning to go to sleep over his shoulder. "Did I fuck up the directions?"

"No, this is the boys wing." Jean turned away from the dresser and gave him a smile that looked more like a grimace. "The Professor didn't want to make things uncomfortable by having integrated bedrooms."

"So why are you here?" Lance cursed himself as soon as the words left his mouth.

"Why are _you_ here?"

"There's a hole in the floor. I guess I was just wondered what did it."

Jean sighed and sat on the bed. "This was Scott's room."

"Scott?"

"The Professor worked with me for years but Scott was the first person he recruited as a student. He was an orphan, blinded because of his powers. The Professor made him some shades so that he could see – his power was optic blasts and he couldn't control them so he needed the shades just to be able to open his eyes – and he settled down. He was so…focused, determined. But he was sweet too, always looking out for me. He drove a red sports car and he liked raspberry ripple ice cream and CSI Vegas and he wanted to be an advocate of mutant rights and I buried him in the garden."

"Oh." Lance sat on the bed beside Jean, aware that the kid had fallen asleep. "Did he put the hole in the ceiling?"

"While he was ill." Jean sounded tired. "I did my best but I couldn't help them!"

Lance frowned. He had no idea how to comfort her but she was so upset he couldn't just leave her to it. Instead, he laid the softly snoring kid out on the bed.

"I need your help." He briefly debated putting an arm around her to give her some comfort and rejected the idea. She'd only just met him after all. "See the kid?"

"Uh, yeah."

"He needs a name. I've been trying to think of one but nothing seems to fit. What do you think?"

"A name?"

"Yeah. Can't keep calling him 'kid' forever."

Jean frowned. "Why don't you call him after your father?"

"Never found out his name. Never will do now either."

"Oh." Jean tried to stop her blushes. She had always known her family was the archetypal American dream that was presented on TV and she had also known it wasn't realistic. But she had lived that life. Her parents had stayed together and been happy, they had lived together contentedly and if it weren't for her powers they would have been totally average. It didn't sound like Lance had experienced that.

"So…you're a girl," said Lance. "Everyone knows that it's the girls job to name the baby."

"What's the boys job then?"

"His work's done. He gets to smoke cigars." Lance grinned to show her he was joking. "Seriously, I couldn't think of anything. I even went through a baby name book but I didn't like anything in there."

"You didn't have any friends you'd like to name him after?"

Lance thought of Griff and Pete. "Not really. I had friends but not the type I'd want to give the kid anything in common with."

"No stepfather or anything?"

"My last foster father was called Gary." Lance rolled his eyes. "He was OK I guess but he was a big football star in high school and he kept going on at me to try out for the team. Kept telling me that if I bulked up and concentrated I could be on the team. He was a quarterback and he didn't get that I wasn't interested. I'm not into football."

Jean decided not to mention Duncan – wow, she hadn't even thought about him since everyone's powers went out of control when they got sick. She didn't even know if he was alive or dead, although he had been ill the last time she spoke to him so she had to believe the worst.

"He wasn't a bad guy," continued Lance. "But I wouldn't feel right calling the kid after him."

Jean reached out and brushed the kids cheek. It was soft, downy. The kid snorted a little but didn't wake up. "I've got an idea, but we don't have to if you don't like it."

"What?"

"My fathers name is – was – John. I miss him a lot; I don't even know for sure that he's dead. We could call him Johnny."

"I can live with Johnny." Lance leant down and whispered. "Hey kid – told you I'd get you a name! You're Johnny!"

"You'll wake him up!" Jean laughed, glad to be shaken from her memories. "You sure he shouldn't be called Lance Junior?"

"Hell no." Lance straightened up. "I just found him. If he's staying here he's one of us and he gets looked after by all of us."

"Dream on." Jean snorted. "Can you imagine Logan or Mystique trying to look after him? Logan thinks his job's to make sure none of us get attacked and that's where his responsibility ends and Mystique has to be least maternal person I know."

"Sam knows what he's doing though," said Lance. "He had ten brothers and sisters, his parents must have never stopped! He thinks the kid – Johnny – must be about two months old. He knows how to take care of him too."

"But you're not leaving Johnny with Sam are you?" Jean grinned at Lance's embarrassed expression. "You might have planned for everyone to share Johnny's care but you're putting it on yourself to do most of it."

"Well, I was the one that found him and I kinda got used to him." Lance rubbed the back of his neck. "You said your sister had two kids – why not name him after one of them?"

"She only had one boy." Jean smiled as she remembered her nephew. "She called him Gawain."

"Thank you so much for not naming him after your nephew," said Lance fervently.

"I begged her not to but she insisted." Jean let herself recall the arguments. "I wanted her to call him Nathan, but Gawain was something her husband wanted. Do – did you have any brothers or sisters?"

"No, my mom wouldn't make the same mistake twice," said Lance sourly. "I guess I'm luckier than you and Sam. I didn't have to worry about anyone else when everyone got sick."

Privately Jean wondered if he was right. Her heart ached whenever she thought about what she had lost – her family, her extended family in the mansion, her friends – but she also had a lifetime of memories of them that made her glad she had known them even if they were snatched from her when she was least expecting it. To have never had that kind of closeness – that was unimaginable. Maybe she was the lucky one.

"Anyway." Lance stood up. "I was trying to find a room for me and the kid until he's old enough to sleep on his own. The room I found was perfect except for the big hole in the floor and I don't want to be losing my clothes down there all the time. Any better ideas?"

"I'll help you find something. Leave Johnny here, he'll be fine." Jean ignored Lance's doubtful look and piled pillows around Johnny so he couldn't fall off the bed before dragging Lance out of the room. He needed to get away from the kid for a while, even if it was just to choose a room and she was going to make sure that it happened. And she was going to make sure that he felt a part of this family too, as well as Todd and Sam. It may not be what any of them wanted, but all they had now was each other. In her experience, families didn't always get on, they argued and fought and bickered – but they laughed and cried together, supported each other, were there to help out. The Professor had wanted the students at the Institute to be a family and she was going to carry on that wish.

They were a family now. No matter what.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Remy rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand and refocused on the words in the notebook. It made no difference. The front page was still addressed to him.

This was just great. He'd escaped the chaos and noise that was New Orleans only to land with a crazy girl and her dead but still communicating mother. Part of him expected Irene's ghost to float through a wall and start wailing at any moment.

He read the page again, his brow furrowing in confusion.

_Mr LeBeau,_

I know you're going to read this before Rogue does, so if you don't want to be found out you should remove this page.

Surreal. Utterly weird. _How_ could she know? He knew she was a precognitive but still – the thought that his every move had already been chosen for him put him in mind of some cerebral puppet master pulling his strings. He didn't like it one bit. It creeped him out.

You're thinking about leaving Rogue behind, sneaking off without telling her and letting her fend for herself. You can still do that if you want – she'll get along without you just fine – but it would be better for both of you if you were to remain together. Mostly for your sake. If you knew what was going to happen it would be easier for you to get along in this world. Rogue does know, although her premonitions are not always clear. To this end, I have filled this book with what I see happening after I have died. I am blind and I'm getting sick but I hope they will be of some help. Your chances of survival are improved with Rogue on your side.

Irene Adler.

Remy scowled. He didn't like this woman knowing what he was thinking. His first thought was to just leave – this Irene could go to hell, thinking he couldn't cope without Rogue. And he could take the damn notebook with him; he'd still know what was coming.

On the other hand, she might be useful. Her powers could help if they ran into some one unfriendly – Remy knew that not everyone would welcome other people. They could be dangerous.

Maybe he'd take a quick look through the notebook before he made a decision, wait for her to return, see what happened. He could take off at any time he wanted. Besides, it had started to rain.

He pulled the note to himself out of the book and checked through the pages, a mix of writing and slightly Picasso-esque drawings. Still, he mused, that she'd managed it at all without sight was impressive. Irene must have been one determined woman.

He browsed through the pictures, not bothering to read the words. People he didn't recognise, places he didn't know. Some words apparently in Japanese or Chinese on one page. A man looking like a psycho scarecrow with claws, a woman at his side with seven or eight different faces surrounding her head. Another man covered in hair, something dark dripping from his overgrown nails. A girl who could only be Rogue, her eyes closed but a third eye in the centre of her forehead wide open. An indistinguishable figure lay apparently prone with objects floating in the air, shadowy people ducked around the edge of the picture. A man in a mask and cape with his arms outstretched, apparently appealing to a – girl? – who was shooting something out of her hands at him, another figure lying at her feet.

None of them were familiar. None of them made any sense.

He flipped ahead to nearly the end of them book. There was more writing but he barely registered it. The picture took up all his attention. A mans face, features basic and rudimentary save for what might have been a birthmark just above the bridge of his nose, a rough square or diamond shape.

Remy closed the book and decided knowledge about the future could wait. One brush with the past was enough for today.


	17. Ghosts

I'M BACK! Ya miss me? Whaddya mean, no?

The saga of my computer woes would take up pages, so suffice to say I'm now on my third computer this year (me and electronics do NOT mix!) and it seems to be going OK…for now. My apologies for the delays with this story, I devoutly hope that this is the end of the problems and hope to post more frequently now – like a chapter a week. Hit the review button and let me know what you think of this chapter! I wrote most of it on E-mail and pasted it from there this time – last time I wrote it, I saved it to my second computer which promptly crashed. Introducing a new character (canon) and some old faves I hadn't looked in on for a while. Thanks to everyone for their patience! Thanks for the reviews at the end of the fic, so as not to take up a ton of space up top.

On a related note; let me know if my characters swear too much (mentioned by one reviewer). PB has a potty mouth and I have a fixed idea about which characters curse a lot (Logan, Lance, Betsy), which curse a little (Wanda, Pietro, Sam, Todd) and which never do (Jean, X-23). If you agree or disagree with me, let me know.

WARNING: This chapter contains at least one scene which some readers may find disturbing in the maximum. Please don't flame me for it. The idea does not come from me; the character actually did the same thing in the comic book. I'm writing the idea into the story because the character wasn't introduced in Evo.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When the virus first hit Las Vegas, no one had taken much notice of a few people down with the flu. However, as the infected began to die and TV reports suggested that the situation was grave not only in Vegas but across the country, possibly the world, martial law had been declared. Those in the military who were still able to work had been drafted in from local military facilities and recalled from leave to guard the streets and ensure that no one entered the barricades erected to keep the sick out - too little and far too late.

Sergeant William Stryker had been on leave, expecting the birth of his first child any day. The news of an illness had worried him, considering his wife's condition, but his sense of duty had made him say his goodbyes and promise to call her. His only consolation was that the posting wouldn't take him out of Vegas, where they shared a modest home. He had already decorated a room for the baby.

It was less than twenty four hours before he deserted his post. Watching what was going on, any fool could tell that the military were fighting a losing battle to keep order. There were people running riot, shooting at the soldiers and forcing them to return fire, looting shops, falling over too sick to move, dying while blood spilled from their mouths or being kicked and trampled by panicked citizens too mindlessly terrified to avoid the fallen or even notice they were there. There was no way he could leave his wife alone a moment longer, not while she was so close to having the baby, not when maniacs were roaming free. She could be attacked in their home by some one who realised that the law could never again touch them for it. Worse, she could become ill. The infected were everywhere, begging for help, some of them weeping openly, others furious that such a thing could happen to them. The sick would try to make contact with those not showing symptoms, grabbing at them and beseeching for help. Most were shoved away hurriedly and Stryker had seen two people attacked by the person they had touched. There was a terror that amongst the sick, not knowing if there would be a cure in time for them to be saved, but there was an equal terror amongst those who seemed well, that they would become infected through sharing touch with the sick, the same water, the same air. Every barricade was surrounded by terrified, screaming mobs demanding sanctuary, a cure, shelter, that some one help them.

There was only one person that Stryker knew for sure he could save. As time wore on the barricades became less well defended as more soldiers succumbed to the effects of the virus or slipped away to be with their families. The ones who remained were becoming ever more strung out, using bullets in a futile attempt to keep the mobs back. Further down the barricade, Stryker saw a young soldier who was a part of his Rangers squad put a hand to his face and examine the substance on his hand. He was too far away to make it out but he guessed it was blood because the kid screamed hysterically and began firing into the crowd, causing a stampede away from that part of the barricade, people falling and being trampled in the rush.

Stryker made up his mind at that moment. Vegas was a hotbed of sin and depravity and the hookers and the gamblers and the people who lived in luxury on the weaknesses of others could all die together, choking on their own blood. He was going to go home and get his wife. He knew where the barricade was unmanned, where he could slip through in his unassuming family car and hide out in the desert until the epidemic was over.

"Gonna sort him out," he told the soldier beside him, indicating to the kid who was still spraying bullets into the crowd, screaming that they had killed him. In no hurry, Stryker went over to the young man, shot him through the heads and deserted; the screams of the people witnessed his final act as an Army Ranger still ringing in his ears.

But when he got home, his wife was sick anyway.

Not knowing what to do for the best, Stryker stuck to his original plan, grabbing food and water and throwing what he could in a cool bag before heading out into the unforgiving Nevada desert. He wasn't stopped, the situation in Vegas having gone beyond the control of the depleted armed forces. There was more to worry about than a lone car heading for the desert.

They had barely left the city limits when his wife let out a groan and informed him she was in labour.

"Oh shit!" Stryker couldn't remember the last time he swore out loud but this seemed to be the perfect time. Stepping on the accelerator he tried to think; where could he take her? Forget the Vegas hospitals; they were full of the diseased and dying. According to the news and his informants in the Army Rangers, things were no different anywhere else in the state. And he didn't know how long he would be able to drive before he was forced to stop and help his wife.

There was little traffic on the roads, the declaration of martial law meaning that few had been able to escape the town. What little there was appeared to have been incoming, most of the cars abandoned, a few containing bodies. Several of the cars were filled with the possessions of a lifetimes worth of stuff; TVs, fancy computer systems, expensive electronics. He wondered why these people had felt the need to remove their possessions when they were trying to outrun something that could kill them. It wasn't like they could watch soap operas in the next life.

It was midday when he swerved off the road and into the desert, seeking out the shade of a huge boulder and stopping the car there. His wife's breathing was erratic and she had taken to muttering to herself. This compounded by the occasional groan or scream, which he assumed to be contractions. he had tried to time them by his watch and was alarmed to find them less than four minutes apart. The baby was coming soon, no matter what he did. Surely it would be better to stop and help her.

By five it had become clear that his wife was going to die. She was spitting up blood, as he'd seen the infected in Vegas do shortly before they expired. She seemed to be struggling with the baby too, although how much was down to the normal trauma of childbirth and how much due to the illness he couldn't say - this was to be their first. He had never seen a baby born before. One thing he did know, if his wife were to die before she birthed the child, it was highly possible that the child would die too. He would have lost everything.

He offered up a quick prayer to God and went over to the car, where he kept a switchblade in case he was attacked. It wasn't a scalpel but it was sharp and would have to do. Kneeling beside his wife, he wiped the hair back from her forehead and slit her throat, asking for forgiveness as he did so. Tears came to his eyes but he blinked them back, aware that his time was short. He had to get the child out of his dead wife at once. Knowing that she was beyond pain now, he sliced open her stomach and performed a clumsy but effective caesarean, ripping his first born from her womb.

The child was an abomination.

Unable to believe his eyes at first, Stryker gazed in repulsion at the thing. Covered in amniotic fluid and dark fur it's face was almost feline, ears pointed and too large for its head, legs and arms out of proportion to it's torso. . .

It opened its eyes and looked at him.

He snapped its neck with one blow.

With a cry of disgust, he dropped the corpse and backed away as if it might suddenly come alive and scutter after him. In death it looked even more sinister, as if it were still sentient and able to read his fear.

_What IS that thing?_

The strength ran from his legs and he sat down heavily beside the body of his wife, unable to take his eyes from the child. This wasn't human fuckery. This was Armageddon, judgement day. Divine intervention. The human race had finally become to corrupt and God was striking them down.

But his wife…she hadn't been an evil woman. She had been an angel, a truly good person. And if she hadn't been to church as often as he did, that was because she believed God had meant them to enjoy the beauty of the world rather than mouth prayers inside a stuffy building. Why would God take her? Why her and not him?

Because she was _too_ good. If this was judgement, just as had happened to Noah, the human race needed some one who would not shy away from the tasks ahead. His wife would not have destroyed the…monster…she had birthed. She would have treated it like a normal child, although it was clearly some form of demon. In times of strife, humans needed a forceful leader, not a gentle shepherd. That was why he had lived and she had not.

And the child was a sign from God. There was evil loose in the new world. He'd always had problems dealing with the concept of a cartoon devil with horns and a tail, but clearly _something_ sentient and evil was out there, using the opportunity of the depleted and confused population to overrun the planet with more of its kind. Why else would this demon have happened to them? And what better kind of person to use as its vessel than a good, God-fearing woman who would never have destroyed it. It was the kind of perverse obscenity that evil loved.

Well, he had proven himself able to take care of the demon and be up to the task. And maybe the demon had been sent as part of Gods plan. Otherwise he might not have found out that they were out there. He had no doubt that there were others. So maybe God had picked Stryker as a representative to remove this evil. That was the only thing that made any kind of sense. If this wasn't Gods plan then the flu was just an epidemic, his wife was dead by a twist of fate and he had just killed his only child because it was some biological accident – and that just didn't make any _sense_.

Pulling himself to his feet, Stryker gingerly picked up the corpse of the child and flung it as far into the desert as he could. Then he knelt beside his wife and kissed her forehead, wishing he could bury her but knowing it was futile in the soil of the desert without tools, settling instead for a few prayers and a lot of tears. The moon was up by the time he got up and went back to the car. Without the relentless Nevada sun, it was cold. He started the car and left, not sure where he was going but knowing he had to explain to the other survivors that this was a test. This was their chance to return the human race to the glory of God. And that they had to be careful, because there were monsters out there.

About his child, he spared no thoughts, no prayers and no tears.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Wanda leaned back, enjoying the light feeling of her head. She had chopped off her hair earlier that day and although she suspected it was psychosomatic – how much could hair weigh after all? – she felt different. Not just like her head weighed less, but also empowered. As if she was finally taking charge of her life again.

She, Pietro and Jamie had found an out of the way restaurant, closed up tightly and totally abandoned. A hex bolt took care of the shutters and there was food in the kitchen, although the fresh products had gone off and were starting to smell. The freezers though hadn't been opened since before the power went off and were still pretty cold. They had sat outside and toasted hamburgers over a campfire; washed down with a beer (and a cola for Jamie) they had cooled in a bucket filled with ice they had scraped from the freezers. Now Wanda and Pietro sat outside, enjoying the twilight and a second beer while Jamie messed about on the small play area. He was really too old for it, but Wanda figured the last few weeks had forced the boy to grow up too quickly and he deserved the time to be a child for a little while.

Weirdly, she was content. A combination of being in control of her destiny again, being with her brother and having a two-beer buzz on. She'd never drank before and was feeling the effects. It was a nice night and for once, she had no worries, no plans for the future other than survival. The restaurant was far enough away from the nearest houses that they couldn't even smell any bodies. She'd even managed to forget her plans for revenge for a while. It was nice.

Then Pietro opened his mouth and ruined everything.

"Do you think he's out there somewhere?"

Wanda glared over at her brother, good mood shattered. She didn't have to ask who he was talking about. "I know he is."

Pietro leaned back, looking up at the sky. "Maybe he's looking for us. Maybe he's worried."

"If he's looking for us, then he must want something. He's a monster. Monsters don't worry about their kids."

"He's not a monster. He's just…look, you were so outta control, I guess he thought he had to do something…"

"Pietro. You came to get me and I'm grateful. Even if it took you a long time…"

"I didn't know where you were!"

"I know. But _he_ put me there, _he _left me there and _that_ makes him a monster!"

"But…"

Wanda clenched her fists. At the same time, a long-dead electric lamp above the door of the restaurant exploded, belching glass across the floor. Pietro wisely decided to drop the subject.

Jamie heard the noise and ran over. "Why did you do that Wanda? Pietro annoying you?"

Forcing herself to calm down, Wanda unclenched her fists and tried to smile. "You know Pietro. He's always annoying me."

"Hey!" Pietro put on a look of hurt, but secretly was relieved. He didn't like the idea of Wanda losing her temper. There hadn't been anything too bad yet – he'd been careful to watch what he said to her and not rile her. He knew he was pushing her limits every time he mentioned their father, but he had to try. He was in no doubt that Magneto was still alive and could only imagine what would happen if Wanda lost her temper and her control when the family finally met up. Magneto wouldn't go down without a fight. One of them was bound to get hurt.

Jamie kicked at a shard of glass that had landed nearby. "We staying here tonight?"

"Might as well," said Wanda. "Warm, under cover and there's food."

"What about tomorrow?"

"Sure. We could camp out here for a few days."

"Good idea," said Pietro. "But maybe we should think about what to do after that."

"What _is_ there to do?" Wanda gestured around her, the movement indicating the rest of the world. "There's no people. No need for cash. All we have to consider is staying alive and this is as good a place as any to do it."

Jamie frowned. "Shouldn't we look for other people? Not that you guys aren't cool – well, you are Wanda…"

"Creep," muttered Pietro.

"But there might be other people left alive and they won't find us here."

"Yeah," said Pietro, rolling his eyes. "A colony of gorgeous girls all waiting for a studly hunk to help them repopulate the world." He paused, contemplating the idea. "Actually, the brat might have a point. I'm a studly hunk after all…"

"Shut up." Wanda rubbed her forehead, beginning to get a headache. "Maybe there are other people, but it's a big world out there. We could wander around for years and not run into anyone."

"But if we went to the city, there might be – I dunno, signs or soldiers or police or something," said Jamie hopefully. "They'd know what to do!"

"Any city would stink," growled Wanda. "Millions of people rotting in the sun. Delightful."

Jamie looked queasy and Wanda immediately regretted her words. She knew that Jamie had lost his family and she shouldn't be reminding him of it in such a cruel way.

"Look, I'm sorry." She grabbed her beer and took a long swallow. "But I think we ought to stay here for a little while at least. We can always think of something in the next few days. And what's the hurry? Not like we're gonna be late for anything."

"I guess not." Jamie still looked downhearted. "It'd just be nice to see some other people is all."

Wanda allowed herself a slight smile. She supposed she and Pietro weren't much fun for a twelve year old, what with her psychosis and his posturing. But for the time being, they were all the company he was going to get.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_"What's your name?"_

_X-23 regarded the girl coldly. With her brown pigtails, pink T-shirt and dungarees, she looked happy and secure. X-23 hated her immediately._

_"Don't you have a name or something?" The girl hugged her doll closer to her. "I'm Katie. This is Carolina April-May. I got her for my birthday. When's your birthday?"_

_X-23 didn't have a clue what the kid was talking about. Birthday?_

_Katie was getting impatient. "What's your name?"_

_Dr Risman was watching them closely and X-23 knew she was going to have to say something. She was supposed to be blending after all and Madame Hydra would be mad if she blew it. "My name's, uh, Deborah," she said, using the doctors name on impulse._

_"That's a dumb name."_

_"No it isn't," said X-23. _

_"Yes it is." Katie smirked and X-23 quelled the urge to hurt the kid. That would certainly blow her cover. "Don't you have a dolly?"_

_"No."_

_"Are you poor or something? My dolly's the best. Look, she really cries. I'm going to get a boy-dolly next and they can be brother and sister. I'm going to be their mommy. Aren't you playing on the swings?"_

_X-23 shook her head. She was supposed to be blending and observing. That meant she couldn't play even if she was allowed to._

_"You're dumb." Katie laughed and ran off, hauling herself up the ladder to the slide with practiced ease. X-23 glared, rage welling up inside her. She was supposed to be a weapon, not have any emotions, but this feeling inside her was to dark to deny._

_Some time later, Katie was led from the park in floods of tears by her concerned parents. The doll, its arms and legs twisted off, dangled from her hand. Her mother carried the missing appendages, wondering aloud to her husband how such a thing could have happened. No child could be so malicious, surely. Some distance away, Dr Risman sighed and decided to take X-23 back to Hydra. There was no use in denying it. The destructive tendencies the girl had were getting more and more out of control. This wasn't the first time she had destroyed something of the other children's. Once again she would have to sit down and explain to X-23 why she couldn't draw attention to herself in this way and once again the child would look at her through those unfathomable green eyes and not understand why she was taught to maim and dismember but couldn't do so to make her feel better…_

X-23 forced the memories from her mind as she looked out over the play area. Earlier in the day she had changed her clothes, going into a shop and choosing a pair of jeans and T-shirt rather than her uniform. If she was going to be separate from Hydra, then she was going to celebrate it. Hence she had changed and tied her hair out of her face. There was no point in dressing for concealment and fighting when she wasn't going to be doing either.

Shoes had proved to be more of a problem, the boutique managing to have only a small selection of impractical options. Instead, she had kept her old ones. Just because she didn't think she would have to fight didn't mean that she was taking any chances.

She sniffed the air and detected no living people around. Satisfied, she sprinted over to the slide and climbed up. Blending and observing meant that she knew what to do and that it was supposed to be fun, but the slide was a bit anticlimactic. Ditto the monkey bars – no challenge at all. She went on a few other things but half-heartedly. All this time she had wanted to do the same things as the other kids and now she finally had the chance and had broken the taboo, it turned out to be a big let-down. Maybe she was just too old.

Dispirited, she sat on the swing and opened her rucksack, pulling out a bar of chocolate. She'd become addicted since her first bite and now everyone was dead, there were bars lying about all over the place. There was soda too, her personal favourite being cherry cola. The sugar rush hit her enhanced senses and she sighed, idly kicking her legs and making the swing move. There was so much she had wanted to do when she finally got free from Hydra and although most of those things involved revenge and bloodshed, there were the simple things as well. Things she had seen other people do and thought she would never be allowed to do. Entertainment was a distraction from her training. But she wasn't enjoying the park at all.

Stuffing the chocolate wrapper into the empty can and putting it on the floor next to her, she kicked her legs more viciously. This was _hard_. It took her a while to work out how to get the damn thing to go where it was supposed to. And suddenly she had it. Working her legs, she managed to get the swing higher. She laughed, suddenly feeling pleased in a way she never had before. The breeze whipped her hair out of her inexpertly tied pony tail and she grabbed for the band as it fell, missed. It didn't matter. Instead she leaned backward and let her hair blow into tangles and laughed again, for the first time in her life feeling totally carefree.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_So weak. How long has it been? How long have I been down here?_

She drifted, not knowing how much time passed. The cavern was cold and damp, but she felt it only in an abstract way. The cavern had always been cold and damp and she had been down here a long time. Her body rested, in a self-induced suspended animation. She didn't know how long she could keep it up, but it had kept her alive this long.

_How long?_

Occasionally she could sense the minds of others but had never been able to get in contact with them. She wasn't a psychic in the accepted sense, although her powers were psychic in nature, and couldn't just force her voice into the minds of others. She was too weak now to use her powers to make them realise she was there. In the right circumstances, maybe…but it had been a long time and the right circumstances had never happened. Sometimes she thought they never would. She would lie in the dark until her powers could no longer keep her alive and then she would die, cold and alone, trapped down here. Despair drained her spirit even more but she had been here for to long to feel much else.

Something roused her from her torpor. There was a mind there, in the cavern with her. But how? It hadn't been there a moment ago.

Opening her eyes took a frightening amount of strength. At first she could see nothing and for a moment she thought she was imagining it – maybe her time to die was now and this was a last-ditch effort to stave of insanity. Then she made out a shadow darker than the others. Had she had the energy, she would have gaped. It looked like a black hole had appeared in the centre of one of the rocks, a perfect circle of total darkness. Instead, she merely stared dully, trying to focus her eyes The cavern wasn't in total blackness but there was little light and for a moment she couldn't understand what she was seeing.

"Bloody hell, it's dark in here!"

The cavern filled with sudden light, tinged purple. A girl stood in the centre of the now-shrinking black hole, the light coming from what looked like a blade of light in her right hand. The light reflected back off her curious face, attractive in spite of the mark covering her eye.

"You Danielle?"

"Yes…" She managed to move her head to follow the girl's movements as she approached. "Who…are you?"

"Name's Betsy."

Betsy put an arm under Danielle's head and got her into a sitting position. "I don't know how that bastard knew you were here. Couldn't see a thing wrong from above. Not used to this whole teleporting thing, thought I'd done it wrong or something. How long have you been here?"

"Long time."

"Yeah, you look like shit." Betsy helped Danielle to her feet. "Let's get you back to the dungeon and get you better. Get you something to eat and a bath. Essex is a tosser but he knows what he's doing with medicine at least. And you look like you need a doctor."

Danielle gave Betsy a questioning look and the girl laughed bitterly. "I know, why am I taking you there if I hate him so much. Like to say it's for you but it's not. My brother's there and a kid I was _supposed_ to be protecting. Word of advice? Don't piss him off and keep your head down. Maybe you'll get off easier than us. Now let's go, before he gets mad."

On cue, another black portal opened and Betsy guided Danielle toward it. Still weak, Dani couldn't help the tremor of fear that ran through her. Her strange rescuer was implying she might have been better off left here, in the cavern, than rescued. But that was impossible. Nothing could be worse than dying in the dark. No matter what kind of a guy this mysterious Essex was.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

TheDreamerLady – I finally updated, go me! Sam shutting himself off ain't a good sign, but he is gonna get some more attention in later chapters (I put him in the story to pay more attention to him and he's getting shut out with Lance/Jean affection and Logan/Mystique arguments). Remy knows _something_ about Sinister but I'm not saying yet! Hope you like this chapter!

Ishandahalf – Hope you enjoyed the sinister foreshadowing in this chapter (bad pun alert!) and yeah, I'm gonna keep Rogue and Remy together, coz I don't do a lot of Romy. They'll be back in the next chapter!

Rogue14 – Hate laptop! Shouldn't say that, the PC I got wouldn't stop crashing and now I've got a nice new laptop to write on (and no money). I'll be getting to the new chapters of 'R' shortly, I have so much to catch up on! Juggy's fate is in the next chapter and the thought of lots of little LeBeau's made me giggle.

Lady Evils – I don't have Scott to torment any more so I guess Rogue got the job of PB's new target of abuse, lol. No, I'm gonna start to be nicer to her. Juggy's showing up in the next chapter and Lance and Jean goodness too!

Sangofanatic – Uh, sorry 'bout the late update! Remy will get attached to Rogue, but his sense of self-preservation is still gonna be stronger…will it make a difference? I'm not saying!

Todd Fan – Glad you like! New chapter brought to you by brand new, hopefully non-evil computer.

Minnaloushe – I thought I was the only person electronics exploded around! Juggy back in the next chapter. Oh no, I never thought what would happen if Pyro got involved and I thought of a storyline he could be involved in – oh boy. I love writing slimy Remy! He's gonna be causing no end of distraction for Rogue and you know they have to get involved with some of the other characters sooner or later. I'm looking forward to writing some stuff about her and Mystique…but it's gonna be a while before I get that far.

Furygrrl – Stupid computers! Can you believe I'm on my third this year? But I'm back now, planning to get involved in fanfiction again…I've been so bored without writing! I'm planning to deal with Juggy in the next chapter, I might even write it tonight, if I get the chance. I could just envision Logan and Lance sniping at each other and I want to put plenty more in there. And Toad as 'irritating baby bro' was too good an opportunity to pass up! He was good with the Brotherhood but being with a changed X-Men gives me more chance to explore the character. The Rogue scene just came to me at work one day, almost whole except for the parts where she considered what she'd never have. I tried to think what we take for granted that can't be done without skin contact…everyone uses making out (and so did I, ha ha) but there's other stuff too. I thought about Remy making the save but decided to leave him home sneaking around instead – more like him! And the idea of a Cajun Punisher made me grin too (and head for a cold shower, lol). Jean was kinda a den mother in the series too, but she might have to work a bit harder here. You were right with a lot of the guesses as to the contents of the diaries but, what with the PB evil streak you'll have to wait to see how they fit in! Hope the wait for this chapter wasn't too long!

Jabari – Glad you like the story! The little groups scattered around the country will begin to meet up _very_ soon – as in, next chapter soon…

Jack – Rogue will be anything but a pansy! She's a bit shocked at the moment, but she'll be scoring points off Remy before ya know it!

Panther Pendragon – Mystique has four kids according to the comics, all the ones mentioned in the last chapter. Kurt and Rogue get the most attention, followed by Graydon. Gloria is adopted with no powers, she lives with her father (a Senator, married to Mallory Brickman, one of Mystique's alter-egos) in Washington. She rarely appears in the comics though. Glad you're enjoying the story!

Alexis in Wonderland – Glad you're liking the story! There was a slight hiatus due to computer woes, but I intend to write a lot more chapters before I get to the end!

STIG – Favourite stories list, thanks! Glad you're enjoying it! In spite of the five-month gap, I still have many big plans for this fic and it'll be running for at least the rest of the year, so plenty to look forward to!


End file.
